


Ghosts

by SlytherPouf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Loss of Virginity, Post-War, Sex, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-03-07 03:38:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 124,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13425996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherPouf/pseuds/SlytherPouf
Summary: They are alive, but not living. They are nothing but ghosts of their former selves, haunting the corridors of Hogwarts. Severus has returned to teach Potions after the War, Hermione has returned to complete her final year. Each seeks the other to reawaken the fire that once burned inside, with explosive consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go again! This one has been wandering around in the recesses of my mind for a while, so I've decided to release the beast, so to speak. It is not as dark as some of my other fics, so read on happily, although be aware that there's plenty of smut coming up, so you might want to hit the back button if that's not your bag. Reviews, comments, thoughts and opinions as we go along are massively helpful and supportive, so feel free to vomit your feelings in the comments! As always, anything you may recognise belongs to JKR. Non-profit making work of fanfiction.

It all washed over her like the soft ripple of a veil, lightly brushing against her face.

There had been a new crop of first-years that had trooped dutifully up the centre of the Great Hall to take their turn upon the stool, and have the Sorting Hat placed upon their small heads, sending them to one of four tables. That had definitely happened, but Hermione had no memory of it. Not how they'd looked, not how small they were, not even which houses they'd been sent to by the old, patched hat.

Her former Head of House, Minerva McGonagall, had made her first speech as Headmistress, which had sounded like nothing but a few snatched words over a hum of nothingness. Why wasn't she listening?

The Welcome Feast had arrived on the house tables as it always did, golden plates now groaning with food. She fed herself out of habit, the tastes and smells quite beyond her realm of awareness. It was purely fuel, for Hermione was drawing no pleasure from eating.

It was the first of September, 1998.

The wizarding world had been liberated from the dark forces that had sought to destroy it, thanks in no small part to the efforts of herself, Harry and Ron. In the aftermath of the final battle, where Harry had finally brought down the Dark Lord, there had been an atmosphere of celebration, blissfully chaotic and heady with the euphoria of their victory.

Hogwarts had been closed after the battle, the decision being made to end the disastrous school year two months early, to allow students, staff, and families time to regroup and grieve. There had been extensive magical repairs conducted on the castle and grounds, ready for this moment; the time that Hogwarts School had reopened for the new term, as it always did.

Somewhere in the relieved delight that had been the golden summer, months where they had been sought after from all corners – attending Ministry functions, not able to walk down Diagon Alley without being stopped at least a dozen times, and an unconfirmed love affair between herself and Ronald, somewhere amidst all that – life had become normal again.

The world? It continued to turn. It hadn't noticed that Hermione Granger had no idea what normal was, anymore.

Death Eaters were rounded up and imprisoned in Azkaban, Kingsley Shacklebolt had been appointed Minister for Magic, and Pius Thicknesse had recovered from the Imperius Curse that he had been placed under and returned to his job as Chief Auror. The Ministry had picked itself up, dusted off its robes and slowly but surely, began to function again.

Complimentary NEWT certificates had been offered to all seventh-year students, and most had taken them, but Hermione, along with a few others, had made the easy decision to return to Hogwarts to take the year she had missed whilst on the run. Well, it had been an easy decision for her, anyway. School was familiar, and she desperately needed something, anything, to feel familiar in this strange new world.

Harry and Ron had taken the complimentary certificates before you could say Quidditch, and set about planning a wizarding 'gap year' before they both enrolled on the Auror training programme next September. Harry had been signed by Tutshill Tornados for a season as their Seeker, and Ron had arranged to work in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes with George, a position that George had reluctantly given him after Ron had made a surprisingly impassioned argument for keeping WWW in the family. He'd caught his brother at a weak moment.

George was still grieving terribly for Fred, although Hermione felt that he concealed the worst of his anguish under humour and congeniality. She supposed he would submit emotionally, when he was ready. You couldn't force these things.

You couldn't force these things. 

She should know. Hermione had not cried for the loss of her parents, for how could she, when they were not dead? When she had returned home, to their home, after weeks staying at the Burrow, the house had been cold and silent, as she'd expected. The only things that were missing had been the belongings she'd sent them to the airport with, off to their new life in Australia, safe from Voldemort and with no memory of ever having a daughter.

Neville gave her an encouraging smile across the table, digging into his syrup sponge with quiet pleasure. The two of them had been the only Gryffindors to return from their year group, and were now seated at the very end of the long table, nearest the Great Hall doors, next to the current seventh-years, Ginny Weasley included.

They'd had a look around the hall, trying to see who else had returned that they might know. Susan, Hannah and Ernie had returned from Hufflepuff, and it seemed like most of the Ravenclaws were back. Well, that was hardly surprising. More shocking had been the sight of Draco Malfoy's white-blond head at the end of the Slytherin table, finally free from the henchmen-like Crabbe and Goyle, and seeming to be deep in conversation with Millicent Bulstrode. Perhaps Malfoy had decided to stop being an arsehole for once. Pansy Parkinson certainly looked put out at not being the centre of her boyfriend's attention.

After the plates had been cleared, Professor McGonagall called for silence, announcing that she had moved the opening speech to after the school had eaten, to allow for adequate digestion to take place before sending everyone to bed. A few smaller students had sniggered at her words, to be quelled with a stare of such disapproval that they would be left in no doubt that the new headmistress would not be putting up with such behaviour.

McGonagall announced that all staff had opted to return, after the 'events of the last year'. There was loud applause when she announced that, unsurprisingly, the Carrows would not be returning.

"What about Snape?" a lone voice had called out, sending a wave of slightly nervous laughter around the echoing hall.

Professor Snape. He had been kept in the news from the Daily Prophet most of the summer. It had been reported that by using potions and antivenins he'd secreted in his teaching robes, Severus Snape had managed to keep himself alive after the snake's attack that she, Harry and Ron had witnessed, and summon help once the battle was over. Madam Pomfrey had transferred him to St Mungo's, and he had managed to fight his way back to health.

They had all felt extremely guilty that they had left Professor Snape laying in the Shrieking Shack, believing him to have died.

No doubt he would never set foot in this castle again, not after the last year, where he had been forced to command the school as Voldemort instructed. Snape was probably the most despised teacher that Hogwarts had ever known. Even the disclosure of his memories before the Wizengamot, his full exoneration for any war crimes, and the role he had played in bringing down Voldemort, appeared to have done little to stem the tide of disparaging opinion against him. Not even his steadfast protection of Harry Potter meant much to those students who had suffered so much under his leadership.

"Professor Snape," replied McGonagall, coldly, "will be returning to teach Potions."

There was a loud gasp of shock from all tables, even Slytherin, for Snape was not present at the staff table.

"Professor Slughorn has now retired, permanently," she continued. "Professor Snape was invited to return as Headmaster, but for his own, personal reasons, he declined the appointment. He did, however, agree to resume the teaching of Potions. He is not at dinner tonight for he is unwell, but do rest assured that he will see many of you bright and early tomorrow morning for your first Potions lesson. Now, stop whispering amongst yourselves, for there is no further discussion to be had on the matter."

For the first time since she'd boarded the Hogwarts Express, Hermione snapped out of her daze. Snape was returning to teach? How on earth could that ever have been considered a good idea? Not just for the students, but for himself?

The notoriously private man had been exposed most cruelly before everyone; his faults, torments and desires laid bare for all to see – ruled over in the Wizengamot, chewed over in the Daily Prophet, and gossiped about relentlessly in the wizarding community.

There was no way he was ill tonight. She had never known Professor Snape miss a day due to illness in seven years. More likely, he needed McGonagall to make this introduction, to prepare the students for his return. Hermione felt a surprising pang of sympathy for the reviled man.

"Now, if you have all quite finished chattering, I have other appointments to inform you of. Please welcome Professor Richard Briner, who will take over my own role as Transfiguration teacher, Professor Andrea Masters, teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Professor Beatrice Gladstone who will be taking Muggle Studies."

There was a small round of applause as the new professors identified themselves by briefly raising their hands. Professor Briner was young-looking, possibly mid-thirties, with short brown hair and glasses. His robes were clearly brand new, and he looked excited to be there. Professor Masters was a little older, possibly late-forties, but seemed haughty and rather glamorous for a teacher. Professor Gladstone was a rotund little witch of about sixty, with a smiling face and curly grey hair.

Oh well. She would give them all a chance, for Hogwarts was, for the first time, all about education. There was no Harry or Ron to run around after, no threat from the Dark Lord taking her attention away from her studies. Hermione didn't need to like her professors, she only needed a clutch of Outstanding NEWTs. The thought of making something so mundane as a revision timetable seemed inordinately appealing after nearly dying ten times over in the last year.

As they were dismissed to their common rooms, the so-called eighth-years all headed in the same direction, regardless of house. It had been decided that since there were so few of them, and because each common room had only seven boys and seven girls' dormitories, that the returning students such as herself would each have their own small rooms on the guest corridor, which was rarely used.

They'd been led to the rooms earlier by a grumbling Filch, moaning about them 'living in the lap of luxury.'

Luxury it was not, but vastly preferable to sharing a dormitory with girls a year younger. The rooms, and she'd seen that her neighbour, Neville's, was the same, had a small four-poster double bed, a desk for private study, a tiny shower room and a half-size fireplace with a single armchair in front of it.

This evening, now that the fire had been lit, the room looked cosy and appealing. Yes, she would be quite happy here, more than willing to forego the noise of the Gryffindor common room for the tranquillity of her own workspace.

Hermione was less pleased to see Malfoy enter the room opposite hers, offering her nothing but a curt nod of greeting, which she returned. It had been well-documented that Draco had been spared Azkaban due to his age alone, and was probably as welcome as an outbreak of dragon pox in Hogwarts at current time.

His parents had both been imprisoned, for an unspecified period. According to Mr Weasley, Draco had taken the incarceration of his mother far harder than that of his father.

But, Hermione had no real interest in Draco Malfoy. She had no real interest in anything apart from taking her exams, achieving the grades she needed for a job as an Unspeakable, which she had decided would be her career path - the smooth logic, discretion and cool head that the occupation required appealing perfectly to her best qualities. The Department of Mysteries was the only department within the Ministry that had refused to take students with the complimentary certificates, citing the reason that they only accepted the most exceptional of candidates.

Subconsciously, the challenge of meeting that requirement had made her decision. Perhaps, if she worked exceptionally hard, she might be allowed to take her exams early.

Then she could leave Hogwarts behind, and the rest of her life could finally begin.

-xxx-

In the darkness of his dungeon chambers, Severus sat quietly in the old leather armchair before the fire, a heavy glass of firewhisky in one hand, and a Muggle cigarette in the other. He brought the little stick to his lips and inhaled deeply, drawing the delicious poison down to his lungs and holding the smoke there for a good few seconds, before exhaling through both his mouth, and his large nostrils.

A filthy habit, his mother had always called it, catching him smoking time and time again when he was home from Hogwarts on school holidays. Since she had been dead by the hand of his father before he'd turned eighteen, Severus had cared little for her opinion ever since, and he took another deep drag of the tightly-packed cigarette, blowing away the smoke and opting for a large sip of the Old Ogden's next, allowing it to burn his raw throat.

His throat was always raw, lately.

Severus supposed that this was unsurprising, since it had been nearly ripped out by that fucking snake. Two months in St Mungo's had patched him up well enough, however, although the scarring was a foul sight to behold. Ah well, that's what Glamour Charms and high-necked robes were for. To cover up that which you would rather others did not see. Perhaps he should glamour his entire head.

When Shacklebolt had visited him in hospital to invite him to return to the headship, Severus had almost thrown his bedpan at new Minister. As if he would ever wish to return to the office that had seen the most tortuous year of his life. Although, as far as bad years went, he had several others that came close. Life, thus far, had not been kind to Severus Snape.

An abused child from a violent home, with a frightened, battered witch for a mother, and an alcoholic, unemployed Muggle for a father, one could say that the odds were stacked against young Severus right from the start. After Tobias Snape had killed his wife in a drunken rage and imprisoned for life in a Muggle prison, their only child had to find his own way in the world, not that he hadn't already been doing so for most of his wretched life.

Reviled in childhood for his dark 'weirdness' amongst the neighbourhood children, and bullied as a youth, at Hogwarts, Severus had found the lure of the Dark Arts, with all the visceral, seductive pleasures they promised, too tempting to resist.

Through his obsession with dark magic, he had lost the one good thing in his life, his friendship with Lily Evans, a friendship he had hoped would turn to love, one day. That the vivacious redhead would love him … as he loved her.

He gave a mirthless laugh before taking another drag of his burning cigarette. How pathetic that sounded now. Love? He didn't even know the meaning of the word. All he had endured, all he had done in the last eighteen years, all in pursuit of a long-dead witch who would never have felt anything more than pity for him. And he'd never seen it – doggedly continuing his self-imposed torture with blinkered vision.

And where was he now?

Right back where he started. In the dank dungeons of Hogwarts Castle.

He had apprenticed here under Horace Slughorn after achieving the highest recorded score in history on his Potions NEWT. After leaving for a short time, during which he fell into the full clutches of the Dark Lord, creating the potion that had killed Regulus Black, betraying Lily Potter and indirectly causing her death, Albus had taken pity on Severus and given him the job as Potions Master, as Slughorn was retiring. He had been the youngest professor that Hogwarts had ever seen, yet he took no pride in his overachievement.

The new Professor Snape spent his time being as surly as possible, allowing no one close to him, considering any pleasure he gained from life to have been personally stolen from Lily Potter.

A bum-clenchingly awkward conversation with Harry Potter whilst he was still recovering in St Mungo's, had resulted in the boy absolving him of any guilt over his parents' deaths, although Severus opted not to tell the earnest young wizard that he didn't give a shit about James Potter, that the man had been an arrogant arsehole his entire life. When someone was offering forgiveness of the magnitude that James and Lily's son was, it seemed churlish to advise them that their father was a malicious fucking git.

Minerva had accepted the position of Headmistress from Kingsley Shacklebolt, and had first sought Severus to return to his role as Defence professor, but he'd requested the Potions position instead, a subject that truly piqued his interest, knowing that the private research laboratory would once again be available to him now that Slughorn had moved his corpulent girth out of it.

He heard the sudden clatter of a hundred pairs of shoes heading down the dungeon corridor, past his door, towards the Slytherin common room. The welcome feast was clearly over. Down to business, then.

It had been an inexorable show of cowardice not to attend the feast, but the truth was, he couldn't face the students, not yet. Not until Minerva had explained his role. He couldn't have borne the look of horror, fear and derision on their faces as they'd have filed into the Great Hall and seen his black-cloaked frame and miserable face at the staff table, to all intents ousted from the Headmaster's chair that he'd occupied last year.

He would be ready for tomorrow. No more excuses.

He had the security of his dungeon, the familiarity of his acerbic teaching style and a whole extra year group to terrify.

Which led him to another thought, who of that godforsaken cohort had returned?

If any of the so-called Golden Trio, those three, bloody irritating Gryffindors who had watched him 'die', had returned, he might as well finish the job.


	2. Chapter 2

As his final class of the day entered the Potions classroom, the seventh-years accompanied by the few returning 'eighth-years', Severus had his answer.

Of course she was fucking here.

Since when did Granger ever miss a chance for further instruction? She'd probably sent back the accepting owl to Minerva before the ink was dry on her reply. The one consolation was that Potter and Weasley weren't with her, and she seemed to be the only older student wearing a Gryffindor tie.

A few of his returning Slytherins were there, including Malfoy, who Severus alternated between feeling sorry for, and wanting to punch in the face. Word had it that Draco had free run of Malfoy Manor whilst his parents were in Azkaban, so he'd been expecting a gloating little shit to enter the classroom.

But surprisingly, Draco had entered without comment, bobbing his head with a nod of greeting and seating himself a respectable distance away from the front. He'd then beckoned Miss Bulstrode to sit next to him. Severus wouldn't spoil this unprecedented behaviour by telling him that the troll-like Bulstrode had less chance of remaining in this class longer than a week, than Hufflepuff had of winning the house cup.

It was going to be difficult for all Slytherins, not just these older ones, to ingratiate themselves back into school life, to shed dark reputations, to right wrongs that had been rent upon others. It was the main reason he had also agreed to resume the role as Head of House for Slytherin, since they would need at least one member of staff on their side.

He found himself face-to-face with Miss Granger for the first time since she believed she'd watched him die. He wondered briefly how might feel about that, before deciding that he did not give one single shit for her opinion. She had mumbled a good afternoon as she'd entered the Potions classroom, which he'd not returned with anything but a dark glare. He had nothing to say her, no conversation to make with any of them, for he was here to teach, not to converse, nor make friends.

Severus began the lesson at a blistering pace, daring the students to keep up with him and determined to erase all memory of Slughorn's insubstantial teaching. Horace was a kind educator, too kind, since he was liable to indulge those students of lesser ability who had no business being anywhere near a NEWT Potions class.

He spelled the instructions on to the blackboard with a flick of his wand, whilst explaining the name, uses and warnings of the potion they were to brew, which seemed like a simple tincture, but was far more complicated than they would expect, since they were now at seventh-year level and he was not playing games. The Essence of Aurelian was fiendishly difficult to brew, and his choice for this potion on their first lesson was deliberate. He wanted to see which of them had what it took to gain an Outstanding NEWT in the subject. The rest? He was not interested.

"Excuse me, Sir?"

It was her fucking hand in the air before he'd even instructed them to collect their ingredients from the storeroom.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" he replied, tersely. "What a novel experience to see your keen hand waving in the air."

Severus thought he noted a look of resentment cross her face at his harsh words, but it was gone in a flash, to be replaced with dull-eyed stoicism.

"What is the brewing time on this potion, Professor Snape? You have stated that there are five stages, amounting to seventy-two minutes, but I don't believe that takes into account the two rest phases where the brew needs to be left to sit, unstirred, before commencing the next stage. That would add an additional eleven minutes, by my calculations."

He watched Malfoy roll his eyes in disgust, and saw the Ravenclaws begin to tot up the total number of brewing minutes on the board. Severus quickly did the calculation himself. Fuck. The insufferable chit was right. He narrowed his eyes at her, before beginning to speak, dangerously quietly.

"I believe, Miss Granger, that we are in a Potions class, not an Arithmancy lesson. Kindly divert your efforts from attempting to wrongfoot me and prove yourself once and for all to be an insufferable know-it-all, and instead focus on the essence you have been instructed to brew. Everyone make your way to the storeroom."

"But Sir!"

She had shot up out of her seat, clearly annoyed by his answer.

"Surely an essential element of potion-making is knowing the correct brewing times?" she insisted, not backing down.

"And now every student is aware of the correct brewing time for Essence of Aurelian, for you have enlightened them, Miss Granger. Congratulations on proving yourself to have a better grasp of basic addition than I. Perhaps you would like to teach the class?"

"No, thank you. Sir."

"Indeed. Ten points from Gryffindor for not knowing when to cease your constant lecturing. No wonder Potter and Weasley have not returned to school, both are most likely sick of hearing your voice."

Severus immediately regretted the last statement as he saw the girl cast her eyes downwards at his brutal insult. Fuck, she wasn't going to cry, was she? The last thing he needed on the first day of term was a sobbing lion in his classroom.

But no. She gave him a brief nod of acknowledgement, and then followed the rest of the students to the storeroom, from where he could hear much scuffling around, followed by the unmistakeable smash of a potion bottle on the hard flagstone floor.

For fuck's sake.

For the next hour, he stalked between the brewing benches like a malevolent bat, stopping to critique each student's work, not to offend, but to instruct. Any offence caused was simply a bonus.

Obviously, Granger's was near-perfect, her work station tidy and her notes in good order, and it was a refreshing change to award her ten points for an excellent effort, rather than always having to be seen to favour Slytherin. He was free to grade as he wished, now. There you go, girl, you've broken even on points, he thought, as the class were packing their bags to leave the room at the end of the lesson, vials stoppered and in the rack on his desk.

No one lingered after the bell had sounded, no questions for the teacher to consolidate their knowledge of today's potion, all keen to get their first day over with. The classroom was soon as empty as it had been at eight o'clock that morning. His timetabled lessons were over for the day.

This was it, then.

His new life, free of Voldemort, free of Dumbledore.

Rise, teach, sleep. Repeat ad infinitum.

-xxx-

Hermione was curled up next to the small fire, wearing her pyjamas and Ron's Quidditch jumper, enjoying the evening with a mug of hot chocolate and new friends. She and Neville were in Hannah and Susan's room, along with Ernie MacMillan, all highly enthused by the new discovery that they could order food and drinks from the kitchens through their private Floo.

"I had no idea that these fireplaces were connected to the school Floo network!" exclaimed Susan, who had issued the invitation to the others, clearly keen to get off on the right foot.

Susan Bones was sharing a room with fellow Hufflepuff, Hannah Abbott, their own choice, as their room was larger than the singles, with a much bigger bathroom. They'd had the idea of hosting a social event when seeing some of the eighth-year Ravenclaws crowd into one of the rooms, and decided that since Gryffindor and Hufflepuff had the smallest cohort, they should stick together. No mention had been made of the Slytherins.

Not feeling particularly sociable and initially declining the invitation, Hermione had been encouraged to go by Neville, and she suspected he fancied Hannah, whom he was sitting particularly close to, laughing too loudly at all her jokes, and seemingly very aware of where he was spreading his long legs in the small room. It was bigger than her own room, that was for sure, but with five students, all now adult-sized, it was a squeeze.

Susan ordered a plate of lemon muffins, curious as to if they would actually arrive. The hot chocolate had been welcome, but they wondered if they were pushing it with the muffins. However, they dutifully arrived a few minutes later, coming spinning through the Floo in a sealed box. They were all in fits of giggles at the new discovery, and Hermione relaxed, thinking how very nice it was just to laugh with friends, no danger or fear hanging over your head like a black dementor of doom that you couldn't ignore, knowing it was always there.

Nice. And not at all boring. She'd had enough adventure to last her a lifetime.

Hadn't she?

They remained undisturbed, chatting about everything and nothing, until Professor Sinistra, who was on patrol that night, knocked on the door and reminded them that they still had a curfew, albeit a generous one, and that when she returned to the guest corridor, she hoped they would all be in their own rooms and silent.

Hermione, Neville and Ernie left the shared room for their own personal chambers, bidding each other goodnight in the hallway, Ernie turning right from the girls' room, with Hermione and Neville turning left. As she unlocked her door, Neville placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Are you alright, Hermione?"

"Of course I am. Why do you ask?"

"I don't really know. You seem a bit sad."

"Everything's different, I suppose, Neville. It will take some time to get used to. Last year I was on the run with Harry and Ron in a tent, eating bloody mushrooms to survive, and now I'm back at school, no Death Eaters on my tail."

"It's different for me, too. I was here last year, and it was the worst year of my life, surviving under Snape and the Carrows, but it made me stronger, you know? Made me realise what we fought for. What we have now, living like this, its what I always wanted."

"And a certain blonde Hufflepuff has nothing to do with that?"

He smiled, and blushed a little. Merlin, she loved Neville. He was the sweetest, kindest young man, and she only hoped that Hannah Abbott returned his affections. He was so deserving of love.

"That obvious?" he asked.

"That obvious," she confirmed. "But only to me, I think. Don't worry. Just keep being you."

"Really?"

"I promise. You're a great catch, Neville. Handsome, brave and strong, and don't forget the bit about being a hero."

She smiled merrily at him, meaning every word.

"Do you think Hannah likes me?"

"We're not thirteen, Neville. You could just ask her."

"I will. Maybe. At some point."

"I'm sure you will."

"What about you? You and Ron?"

She pulled a face.

"We were … together for a while over the summer. You know that, you saw us at enough Ministry functions, as partners, dressed in our best. But, I don't know, we've not split up, but then we never officially agreed to get together, really."

"But you're still, um …?"

Hermione laughed again.

"Yes, last time we were together, before I moved back to my parents' house from the Burrow, I snogged him, is that what you wanted to know?"

"But that's over now?"

"Who knows what will happen? He's working with George at the shop now, and I'm here. We're unlikely to see each other until Christmas, and a lot can happen in a few months. We made each other no promises, we didn't discuss it all, really."

"So, it'll be okay when you get together with Ernie then?" teased Neville.

"Stop! Ernie Macmillan is not my type. Besides, I wouldn't be surprised if he makes a play for Susan, especially since you appeared to stake your claim on Hannah, tonight."

"Draco Malfoy, then?"

"Oh, please."

"You mentioned your parents, Hermione. Are they home?"

"They're not," she admitted. "Maybe one day I'll travel to Australia and find them, but even if I did, I have no idea how to reverse the Obliviate I placed them under. It was rather strong, as well as the false memories I replaced theirs with. What about yours?"

"Not good," he told her. "The Healers think that Mum is starting to fade. I've given permission to go and visit them this weekend. Would you, er … would you come with me? I feel like I can ask you, because, you know, you saw them there. That time."

"Of course I will," she agreed, grabbing his hand without a moment's hesitation. "Whatever you need."

Professor Sinistra chose that moment to stalk back down the guest corridor.

"Miss Granger! Mr Longbottom! I believe that I quite clearly advised you all to go to bed. You two only appear to have got as far as your doors. Kindly open them and enter. No more fooling around, please!"

Seeing that the Astronomy professor was not leaving until they had moved, they muttered a hasty goodnight to one another, and an apology to Professor Sinistra, before Hermione retreated to her chamber and threw off Ron's jumper, tossing it messily on to the armchair. The motion made her hair static, and the wild head that looked back at her from the bathroom mirror as she cleaned her teeth, amused her. She looked about eleven years old, wild-haired and unkempt.

Vaulting into her bed for her second night back at the castle, she thought again about how nice it was to have her own room, free of Lavender's twittering and Parvati's snoring.

There was that word again.

Nice. 

She could, Hermione thought to herself, as she wriggled around in bed, trying to get comfortable for the night, apply the same description to Ron Weasley's kissing.

There had been quite a lot of it, over the summer, and her conversation with Neville had brought the memories to the forefront of her mind.

After their frenzied, for there wasn't another apt enough word for it, snog in the Chamber of Secrets when they'd been doused by a stinking tidal wave that had cut their passion short, they had seemed to enter an understanding, of sorts.

Entering Ministry events on Ronald's arm, as Harry did with Ginny, it had been automatically assumed that they were now together. Even by themselves, it appeared. Admittedly, the stolen kisses around the Burrow and in quiet corners of various parties, gave credence to this suggestion. And there was nothing bad about the kissing. It had been …

Don't say it, Hermione. 

Nice.

Apparently, her formidable brain was unable to turn up a more suitable epithet than the banal, perhaps for very good reason.

This enforced break from one another would do them both good. Ron was going to be working, she was going to be studying – time and space to make suitable life decisions that were befitting of a witch who was turning nineteen in a matter of weeks.

Focusing on slowing her breathing for sleep, Hermione imagined walking into the formidable Department of Mysteries for the first day of her training as an Unspeakable; imagining she would be wearing smart, professional robes, new boots and carrying a grown-up leather satchel, rather than her damn school book bag, Hermione found this a pleasant enough dream to take her right through the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Friday evening in the staff room was as tedious as it always had been, although slightly less frosty than when they'd had Death Eaters on the payroll, last year. The new professors appeared to be settling in well, not that he gave a shit, and there was a hum of general conversation and the clink of many glasses as much-needed Friday night alcoholic refreshments were shared around.

Severus sat in his usual chair, the between the window and the chessboard that made it very difficult for anyone to sit beside him, thus saving him the necessity of engaging in small talk. He would have much preferred to take his evening firewhisky in the privacy of his own chambers, but the Friday evening social in the staff room was so ingrained in Hogwarts history that woe betide any professor who attempted to absent themselves.

He'd wait until they got pissed, which some of them did remarkably easily, and then rescue himself by slinking off unnoticed. It was his night on patrol, anyway, so he had a ready-made excuse for when he was ready to leave, once the students' curfew was imminent.

It had been a long, boring week, not relieved by the thought of the long, boring weekend ahead. Severus was so used to being universally loathed that the looks of hatred from the students who had trooped through his dungeon classroom that week had not bothered him, after all, the reaction was not unexpected.

He would round up all the little bastards to their common rooms tonight, before returning to his own chambers to drink himself into oblivion with the good firewhisky he kept there, and then would spend the weekend in the private laboratory, for he had a number of potion research projects that he was keen to get started on.

Boredom was simply not an option. This was the life he had fought so hard for, and he intended to live it.

Just not like this, a small voice inside his head, goaded by piss-poor whisky, grumbled.

-xxx-

Hermione was on her bed with textbooks, quills and parchment strewn around, eschewing the desk for the infinitely more comfortable double four-poster. She found that she could bear the loss of riotous Friday evenings in the Gryffindor common room very easily, and with a mug of hot tea and a plate of chocolate biscuits next to her, it was almost perfect.

She'd showered and changed into her pyjamas straight after dinner, sending her week's uniform to the laundry and settling in for the weekend. Tomorrow, she would be accompanying Neville as he visited his parents in St Mungo's, as she had promised. Professor McGonagall had given them special permission to leave the school, and Hermione found herself rather looking forward to the day out, despite it being likely to be gloomy at the hospital. But if she could be of support to Neville, it was worth the trip.

It had been terribly strange, the first week back at Hogwarts as a student. The last time she had been here, the castle was being blasted to bits from all corners, and all their lives were in danger. Now, all that was over. Life was essentially as it had been before … except that it wasn't. They were living in peacetime, that blissful period after a war where everyone declares that such atrocities will never happen again. And it lasts. For a while.

If both Muggle and magical history books had taught her anything, is that life cannot be peaceful all the time. Sooner or later there would be another Voldemort, another Grindelwald, another Bellatrix, and all the warnings of the past would be forgotten. But for now, all was well.

Hermione had returned to the Potions classroom for her next lesson, expecting Professor Snape to sneer something unpleasant and mocking as soon as she entered, but it hadn't happened, instead he'd merely ignored her, his eyes empty, lecturing the class on today's potion as he always did.

He seemed less tired, less gaunt that he'd done during the preceding few years, but the fire behind his eyes, the intense black glare that made her want to please him and shit herself all at the same time, it didn't seem to be there, anymore. He'd glared at her on the first day of term, but it had seemed a mere shadow of the quelling stare that he used to control his students with.

The day after that, he'd been striding down a busy corridor between lessons, boots hardly making a sound and his forked, billowing robe flying out behind him, glancing neither left nor right, and making eye contact with no one. Just single-mindedly pursuing his own route as if he hadn't even noticed anyone else was there. Several students, including herself, had had to jump out of his way.

Not that she'd spent the entire week thinking about Severus Snape. Hermione was taking NEWTs in Herbology, Potions, Transfiguration, DADA, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Charms, so there had been plenty of classes to fill her timetable. Snape had just been the most … interesting. That was all.

Hermione found she missed Professor McGonagall's tutelage in Transfiguration very much, for the new Professor Briner was no match for his predecessor's decades of experience teaching the subject. At times, Hermione had felt she'd known more about the syllabus than he did. She also didn't like the way the young-ish professor had looked at the older, returning girls. She could be completely imagining it, and had wished for the skill of Legilimency, but there was just something in an odd gaze held for a moment too long, a covert glance from his desk whilst he believed the class to be engaged in writing. Nonetheless, she would give him the chance to settle in.

Herbology with Neville and the three older Hufflepuffs had been hilarious. Neville was Professor Sprout's favourite, and of course she had great love for her own house, so the five of them had been able to get away with absolute murder, and had stayed long after the lesson had finished to listen to Sprout tell a particularly raucous story about some mischief she had got up to with a Venomous Tentacula the previous year, managing to piss off two Death Eaters and somehow not get discovered, or killed. Thank goodness it had been the last lesson of the day, for the long story and the resultant laughter had been a great tonic.

Charms, always her strongest class, had been wonderful, and Professor Flitwick had been starting to canvass her already to ditch her plans to work at the Ministry and apprentice under him instead, since he would be considering retirement in the next few years.

The new Defence professor, Andrea Masters, had been a bit of an oddity. Firstly, she looked most unlike a teacher. Her heavy make-up made her look like one of those society witches whom Hermione had encountered many time at various Ministry functions. What time did she get up in the morning to look that groomed for an eight o'clock breakfast?

Her voice was clipped, even a little pompous and aristocratic. She sounded like a female Lucius Malfoy, Neville had whispered in Hermione's ear and forced them to straighten the grins that sprung to their faces, for it was entirely true.

Her instruction seemed to be thorough, however, and acknowledged that this particular class had far more practical experience in Defence Against the Dark Arts that the usual seventh-years would do. She was unpatronising, and seemed interested in the students' real-life experiences, rather than sticking doggedly to the textbook. Hermione wasn't sure she liked Professor Masters, but her teaching seemed faultless, thus far.

Swigging the rest of her tea, she returned to her Charms essay, her quill flying easily across the parchment as the words flooded out, all her theories meticulously backed-up by referencing the text books. Shit, where was 'Quintessence – A Quest?' It was a sixth-year book, but they were using it again this year for revision and deeper understanding.

Hermione shuffled the parchments around the surface of the bed, looking for the missing book, eventually realising she would have to get up and search properly. It wasn't in her book bag, nor under the bed, nor on the desk. She even checked the loo, just to be sure.

Her stomach sank as she remembered sharing it in the Charms lesson that afternoon, loaning it to two seventh-year Hufflepuffs that did not have their own copy. It must have been left on the desk. Damn. Why couldn't they have just handed it back to her? She had wanted to complete this essay tonight, and it would be impossible without referencing that book.

"Accio, Hermione's Quintessence book!"

It had been a long shot, since the wards would be unlikely to allow that kind of charm to be used outside of the classroom. She'd been able to Accio Dumbledore's Horcrux books after his death only because the school wards had been temporarily down, since he'd not been alive to command them.

A wicked idea began to form in her head. Did anyone, and by that she meant any witch or wizard in this whole bloody castle, really care whether she went to collect a book from the Charms classroom at midnight?

Before Hermione had even thought particularly hard about her half-arsed plan, she had slipped into the thin floral robe that Fleur had sent her from France, covering her pyjamas and tying the soft sash around her waist. As she stepped out into the dark, deserted guest corridor, her heart leapt.

Oh, yes. This was what she had been missing.

Excitement.

The thrill of the forbidden.

Doing things that you weren't supposed to do in school and trying not to get caught. Honestly, the nights that she and the boys had traipsed these hallways after hours, landing themselves in all sorts of trouble. More surprising had been the times they had not been caught.

Moving stealthily and keeping to the shadows, she set a quick pace towards the Charms corridor, across the other side of the castle, wishing halfway up the second staircase that she'd had the presence of mind to put her slippers on, because her bare feet were bloody freezing.

It wasn't so very bad, was it? Not in the context of everything else she'd done in the last year. It was hardly stealing a dragon and crashing through the ceiling of Gringotts. She was only getting a book …

Hermione couldn't deny that the mad thump of her heart and the rapid pant of her breath was making her feel alive. Damn you, Harry Potter, she thought. You've turned me into a troublemaker. Then she smiled to herself.

Reaching the Charms classroom, she turned the handle, thankful to find it unlocked. She hadn't even given that a thought, that Flitwick might have locked his room for the weekend. Luckily, it appeared he didn't. She tiptoed inside, using the moonlight streaming through the tall windows to locate her book, which was exactly where the two girls had been sitting.

Resisting the urge to poke around, she left the classroom and closed the door quietly behind her, stealing back across the castle the same way she had come, down the staircase and into a wide corridor that led her back to the guest wing. She was almost home and dry, Hermione thought smugly, clutching the book to her chest and thinking of a pair of warm, fluffy socks to thaw out her frozen feet.

A black-cloaked figure suddenly stepped out in front of her, as if from nowhere.

"Holy fucking shit!" she gasped in sheer fright, dropping the book, which hit the stone floor with a loud whump.

"Let us start with five points from Gryffindor for language, Miss Granger," Snape drawled, his voice low and threatening.

"Professor Snape! I'm sorry … I just … you startled me. I didn't mean to swear, I really am most terribly sorry."

"Spare me your pathetic excuses, Granger. How very like your friend Potter you are. How arrogant of you to presume that you can walk the halls of this castle whenever you feel like it, causing all manner of wilful destruction."

"I'm sorry, Sir. I wasn't destroying anything, I promise, and I was being as quiet as I could. I just needed to get my book from the Charms classroom, so I could complete the essay I was writing."

"And this could not have waited until morning?" he sneered, disbelievingly.

"I really wanted to finish it tonight, since I have an important arrangement to go out, tomorrow. I don't know how I've managed to disturb anyone, the classroom wasn't even locked, so I'm sure Professor Flitwick wouldn't mind."

Snape moved his face towards hers.

"It was warded with a charm that indicates if anyone enters out of hours; you stupid little fool," he hissed, dangerously. "Since I am on duty tonight, it fell to me to investigate."

"Oh. I'm very sorry to have disturbed your evening, Professor. Truly."

"As if you would care about the quality of my evening," he retorted, somewhat strangely, before seeming to shake that thought out of his head. "Detention. With me. Sunday morning. I am aware of your … commitment with Mr Longbottom, and given the nature of it, I shall not stop you going. Therefore, your detention will be on Sunday, rather than tomorrow. Now, get to your room."

Hermione nodded, and turned away from the angry wizard, beginning to walk down the corridor away from him.

"Forgotten something?"

She heard his deep voice behind her, and whirled around to see him indicating the Charms textbook that had caused all the trouble, laying on the cold floor where she had dropped it. As she walked back towards him to retrieve it, for clearly, he was not going to hand it to her, her Gryffindor nerve accidentally slipped out of her mouth.

"Thank you, Sir. And actually, I do care whether you have a nice evening or not."

Snape grabbed her arm before she could bend down to collect the book.

"What?" he demanded, pulling her towards him. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that you deserve to be enjoying your life, you fought hard for it. That includes having a nice Friday evening after a week's work."

He sneered, most unpleasantly, curling his lip and looking down his overlong nose at her.

"Like you, Miss Granger? The girl who walks around this castle like a ghost? You wouldn't know how to live your life if it bit you on the arse."

Hermione was shocked by his words and by his coarse tone of address. It goaded her. His derision sparked that fire which was always simmering, just below the surface.

"That's rich, Sir, because the only living ghost here is you. You pay no attention to anyone or anything. If you hate teaching so much then I wonder at your decision to return, because it's just making everyone else miserable!"

Professor Snape had thrown her up against the ornate corridor wall so fast that she didn't even have time to scream. He'd put his head firmly behind her head to cushion the blow, and his arm behind her back so that no part of her hit the wall directly. He would have absorbed all the impact, although she was a little winded.

"How dare you, Granger?" he growled. "How fucking … dare you?"

"I dare, because you levelled the same accusation at me!" she bit back, refusing to be cowed by him. "You tell me that I walk around like a ghost, but you cannot see that the same is true of yourself!"

He curled his mouth into a hideous smile, and he was now so close that she could see how overcrowded his teeth were.

"There is the fire," he told her. "Your fire is still there, Granger. Underneath. Clearly you need danger in your life to make the blood pump through your veins."

"How would you know what I need?"

Snape raised her up the wall, so that her tiptoes were barely touching the floor, holding her hips in place with his own, and forcing a solid thigh between her legs, pushing them open.

"I know what you need, Granger," he whispered, and the professor had dropped his mouth to her ear, pushing through her mad hair with his big nose, and she could feel the heat of his breath as he spoke. "I know, because I need the same."

He kept pushing his thigh upwards, until it was resting against the seat of her thin pyjamas. Hermione could feel the scratch of the rough wool that his trousers were made of, and he began to move, rubbing his thigh against her covered pussy. His leg felt cold, which meant that he would feel the warmth of her, and think that she was in some way aroused by this. Snape kept moving, rubbing and pressing against her.

"You need the thrill of the forbidden, little girl. You will never be satisfied with a nice evening, much like myself. You need excitement to light your fire, and danger to keep your mind alert, to remind you that you are truly alive, that you aren't laying cold in the ground with the rest of them."

Quite unbidden, there was a tortured, pleasured groan that she'd never heard before, and Hermione realised that she had made it, tipping her head back to allow him better access to the sensitive shell of her ear, and she felt his lips curl against it, smiling at her obvious noise of arousal.

"So easy, Granger. It would be so easy for me," he whispered, enunciating each syllable and continuing the devastating grind against her most secret place. "You want intensity. You want passion. You want to be controlled, and to control in return."

"Fuck!" she gasped, as she felt the unmistakable nip of sharp teeth upon her earlobe, just once.

He released her, standing her back on her own feet.

"I should take another five points for language, however, perhaps I shall overlook your dirty mouth on this occasion," he said, clearly and quietly, his terrifying eyes boring into hers, burning with what looked like dark, black fire. "I found I rather liked it."

Snape summoned her book from the floor and placed it in her hands.

"Your detention is cancelled, for I believe my warning should suffice on this occasion. I suggest you revisit the rules of this school, Miss Granger, since you seem to have forgotten them in your absence."

He whirled around, ready to barrel down the corridor, away from her.

"Sir!"

"Yes?" he answered, in a deep voice, not turning around.

"That's the first time I've seen the fire return to your eyes, too."

The tall professor in the long black robe stood motionless, facing away from her. It seemed like an age before he spoke again, and when he did, his voice seemed strange. Unfamiliar.

"Get to bed, Miss Granger."

His boots made no sound as he stalked down the corridor, robes flying behind him and his long black hair bouncing with the pace he was setting, and in no time at all he had turned the corner at the end of the hall, heading to … well, she knew not where. Back to the staff room? Somehow, she doubted it. He would do as she was, returning to his private chambers to think over the encounter that had just occurred between them.

Hermione entered her room, sweeping up all the detritus from her homework session with one wave of her wand, sending everything to the desk surface in a messy heap and throwing herself on her bed. It felt like she was burning between her legs, but in a really good way.

Snape had made her feel like this?

She should be galled, disgusted at his unchivalrous attitude, but the fact would remain that the simple touch of his thigh, rubbing between her legs hard and insistently, had done more to arouse her than every wet kiss or clumsy grope that Ron had bestowed upon her this summer.

His outrageously honest words had accused her of concealing her fire, of needing the thrill of the forbidden, and hadn't she realised the exact same thing herself, when she'd left her room earlier, on this fool's errand?

He'd then levelled her by saying she wasn't truly living. Well, if she wasn't living, then Severus Snape certainly wasn't, either.

He was most definitely forbidden, though.


	4. Chapter 4

Severus continued to stalk down the corridor, away from her, away from temptation. He had heard her, of course. Granger had seen the black fire return to his eyes and he had no doubt she was telling the truth, for he could feel it himself, that energy running through the red blood in his veins, infusing it with anticipation, with power, with desire.

Truth was, he'd had no such intentions when he had answered the tripped security charm on Flitwick's classroom, moving stealthily from his patrol of the third floor and using secret passages to head off the intruder.

It had been Miss Granger, her hair wild and meandering along the corridor wearing a diaphanous white dressing robe, festooned with purple flowers. How the fuck could he remember that?

He'd scared the living daylights out of her, bringing himself into view with no warning, and had rather enjoyed seeing her disquiet, which, after the initial shock, had turned a little confrontational and self-righteous. Granger clearly felt no remorse for her actions, which was understandable, he supposed, given her age and status. It seemed ludicrous that a girl who was nearly two years passed majority should be forbidden from something so mundane as collecting a book during the night.

Severus reached his chambers and barrelled through the door, which opened at the touch of his wand, and slammed it behind him, hearing the fizz of the security ward which set itself each time he entered or left the room. Snatching up his packet of cigarettes from the bookshelf, he flicked one out of the box and lit it with a snap of his fingers, before throwing himself into his favourite leather armchair, loosening his restrictive collar and cravat, and taking a deep drag of the addictive smoke.

Then the game of cat and mouse had begun. She had challenged him, dared him to justify his own words and actions. Her fire and spirit had ignited his own, and with no good sense he had taken hold of her and thrown her against the wall, just getting his hands behind her in time so as not to injure her.

As he'd held her there, feeling the rapid breaths heaving in her chest, a surge of adrenaline that he'd not felt for a fucking long time had coursed through his body, and as she'd continued to goad him, he had shoved his thigh between her legs, the burn from her hot little cunt searing through his trousers.

When had he last felt a sweet heat like that anywhere near his vile body? He could not drag his leg from her, rubbing her covered pussy with his thigh, trying to arouse her, although not entirely sure what he was doing. He'd whispered words of seduction into her hair and had been utterly shocked when she had a released a pleasured moan that had provoked the erection he was still sporting now.

He'd nipped her bloody ear, for fuck's sake. What the hell was he thinking?

The truth was, he hadn't been thinking.

He'd just been breathing, feeling, and living in that exact moment.

Granger had been entirely correct when she'd made her accusation. They were like two ghosts, who, for a short time, had tasted living again.

Taking another lungful of smoke, he dropped his hand to his crotch and rearranged his erection, which was still straining at the fastenings of his trousers. He gave it a rub with the heel of his hand, closing his eyes at the sensation, before sliding down to heft his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze.

Oh, to hell with it. He knew what he wanted to do. Who would ever know?

Stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray on his side table, he removed his trousers with a Divesto, bringing the material on the thigh, where he had rubbed against Miss Granger, to his nose. The scent was slight, but it was definitely there. A delicate, feminine musk that caused his erection to pulse and his hand to return to attend to it.

Dipping into the front of his black undershorts, Severus took himself in hand. This at least, he could do.

-xxx-

Hermione gave Neville's hand a squeeze as they exited the lift on the fourth floor of St Mungo's, heading towards the Janus Thickey ward, which was a special, magically-locked ward for those patients suffering from severe spell damage. He returned it, looking down at her with a grateful smile.

"Thanks for this."

"I told you, I'm happy to do this for you. Tell me anything you need, okay?" she replied.

Neville had knocked on the door of her room that morning, she'd been dressed in jeans and a striped, long-sleeved top, and was just pulling on her trainers, having enjoyed her first breakfast ordered through the Floo, which she'd eaten at her desk, since the tiny rooms had no official dining area.

He'd looked nervous, but also happy and excited as he'd asked if she was ready to go. It must be such a mixture of feelings for her friend to visit his parents, knowing they didn't recognise him, nor were they even aware of his presence. As a child, he'd been taken on regular visits there by his fearsome grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, who'd raised him after the attack upon his parents that had left them in a semi-catatonic state.

Hermione was well versed in modern wizarding history, particularly that pertaining to the dual reigns of Lord Voldemort. The attack on Frank and Alice Longbottom was widely considered to be the most horrendous crime committed in the modern wizarding world by most witches and witches; an attack that had condemned the two highly-skilled Aurors to a fate worse than death.

The Longbottoms had been very popular, both at work and amongst their friends. They had both been staunch members of the Order of the Phoenix, good friends of people she held dear. The attacks on them had come after Voldemort's first fall from power, just when everyone thought the world was safe.

Frank Longbottom had been the first to be captured out of the couple, whilst out searching for Death Eaters to round up, on the instruction of the Chief Auror. Frank was subjugated and imprisoned at an undisclosed location, before being heavily tortured by the Lestranges, and Barty Crouch, Junior, who were attempting to gain information on where Voldemort was being held, believing that he had been captured by the Ministry.

The continued, severe use of the Cruciatus Curse on Frank Longbottom had left him physically and mentally depleted, rendering him irrevocably insane.

When the Death Eaters failed to gain information from him, driving him insane before they could gather any knowledge, they targeted his wife, Alice, who had also been an Auror. She, too, was kidnapped, and tortured in the same manner.

Like her husband, she had no knowledge of Voldemort's whereabouts, and so was forced to endure the curse until her mind snapped and she also was driven insane.

That had been nearly twenty years ago. The infant Neville had been little over eighteen months old when he'd effectively become an orphan, just as surely as Harry had. Hermione felt that in some ways, the continued existence of his parents belied the great suffering that Neville must keep in his heart, being unable to truly grieve.

They approached the ward, and Neville touched his wand to the door, which brought Healer Strout hurrying along the central aisle to unlock it for him. Hermione had been here once before, the Christmas that Mr Weasley had been attacked, and she, Harry and Ron had somehow been coerced into visiting Gilderoy Lockhart, who had wiped his own memory with a backfiring Obliviation charm.

Taking a quick look around the ward, Hermione was relieved to see no sign of her former professor, and presumed Lockhart must have been released into a magical care in the community programme, or something similar. She certainly wasn't about to ask after him, in case Miriam Strout advised he was still in the hospital, and sent her across to assist him in signing more photographs.

In fact, as they walked down the ward, there was only one other resident currently in bed, an unfortunate looking wizard who was laying sideways on his bed, looking miserable, with an impressive bushy tail poking out of the covers. Oops. Hopefully that would eventually be reversible.

They reached the end of the ward, to see Frank and Alice Longbottom side-by-side in separate hospital beds, although Frank was sitting up, making a model of some sorts, out of what appeared to be a pile of matchsticks. Alice was asleep, her hair grey and her skin pale.

"Hi Mum, Hi Dad!" Neville called, cheerfully, and Hermione's heart broke for her friend, as she imagined him doing just that as a small boy, never receiving a response, no recognition from his parents that he was their son.

Frank looked up and smiled, but did not say anything, just returned to his building. Neville sat gently on the side of the bed.

"What's that you're building, Dad? It looks great. Can you show me?"

His father did not acknowledge that his son had spoken, simply continued to build, before knocking down the matchsticks, and beginning again. It was awful to witness, truly awful.

"I'll just go and see Mum," Neville said, in the same upbeat voice, moving around to his mother's bed, leaning forwards and kissing her cheek, then her forehead, smoothing her hair back from her face.

"Hi Mum. You don't look too well, today. I'll let you sleep, I won't disturb you. I just wanted to see you, tell you that I love you, all the normal stuff, I suppose."

Hermione clenched her jaw to stop the tears of hurt falling. Crying would be entirely selfish and do Neville no good whatsoever, not when he was displaying the absolute epitome of courage and selflessness. How had he survived, all these years? All this time, with two living ghosts for parents?

Living ghosts. 

Her own words hit her with such raw emotional power that a small squeak fell from her lips, which she quickly bit back, lest Neville hear.

What had Professor Snape said to her, just the night before?

"The girl who walks around this castle like a ghost?"

She had then levelled the same accusation at him, before their exchange had become more … heated.

How dare she? How dare he? How dare either of them mope around the castle with the gift of life, health and mind, as if they were only half-alive? What an absolute insult to these two brave Aurors laying here, and to their even braver son.

Neville walked over to her, taking her hand and leading her over to his mother's bedside.

"I've brought a friend with me, Mum. This is Hermione, and before you ask, no, she's not my girlfriend, but she is a very, very good friend. I care about her a lot, and she cares about me, that's why I wanted to bring her here."

Instinctively, Hermione reached out and took hold of Alice Longbottom's hand, giving it a squeeze rather than a shake.

"It's a great pleasure to meet you, Mrs Longbottom," she told the sleeping woman, as it were completely normal and natural to do so. "Neville has told me so much about you. You must … must be so very proud of him."

"If she was awake, if she was really here, she'd be telling you to call her Alice, not Mrs Longbottom. I think she'd have said that Mrs Longbottom was her mother-in-law's name, not hers."

"I think you're probably right, Neville. So, Alice, thank you for allowing me to call you that. You're right, it's much less formal."

She sat down on the bed, continuing to hold the woman's hand, and watched Neville's shoulders relax, as if he'd been unsure how the unreal world he'd created for a mother who wasn't truly present, would be received. He had no need to worry, she understood immediately what he was doing, and why.

He returned to his father, as if satisfied that he could leave his mother in Hermione's capable hands. They talked to one another, trying to include the mute Frank and Alice in their conversation. It was strange, but also comforting. The patients both seemed quite relaxed and Frank even smiled a few times, not at any meaningful juncture, but smiled nonetheless.

Lunch was served, and Healer Strout brought plates for Hermione and Neville also, so that they could eat together. Alice had to be helped to sit and eat by auxiliary healers, but Frank took the cutlery and ate himself, although his eyes were unfocused on the meal, and he looked around the walls of the hospital as if he'd never seen them before. It was the saddest family luncheon she had ever attended.

After lunch, Neville sat back in the hospital armchair and put his feet up on his father's bed, crossing his long legs and declaring he was going to take a nap. Curiously, Frank did the same, settling down in his bed, and Neville brought the covers over him with a wave of his wand. Alice had already lain back on her propped pillows after lunch, and looked to be sleeping again.

Once both Frank and Alice were snoring, Healer Strout came over to them.

"Are you ready, Neville?"

"I suppose so. Can Hermione come too?"

"Of course she can."

Miriam Strout ushered them into her small office at the side of the ward, which reminded Hermione of Madam Pomfrey's glass-walled office in the Hogwarts infirmary. They sat in high-backed wooden chairs, and looked at the elderly Healer.

"It's not good news, Neville, as I'm sure you know."

Hermione saw him set his mouth in a thin line, and a muscle ticked in his jaw.

"Your mother is fading. She has been in this state for so many years now, and we believe her body is simply … giving up. She is rarely awake, although she eats well enough. But her mind, Neville. Her mind was so damaged, and wherever she is, we believe she has given up trying to escape."

"Wherever she is?" Hermione repeated. "Is it thought that the Longbottoms may be imprisoned in their own minds?"

"We simply cannot say. The mind is a mystery to us all. We can only care for their bodies, whilst they remain alive. I just wanted to tell you, Neville. I just wanted you … to be aware."

"Thank you, Miriam."

"You're welcome, son."

-xxx-

They walked up the long, winding path from the school gates and the Apparition point, towards the castle. The sun was just beginning its descent behind the tallest treetops of the Forbidden Forest, for it had been a warm September day, and they were both looking forward to a good meal in the Great Hall that night, since the St Mungo's food had not been the most appetising of fare.

"Thank you for taking me to meet your parents, today, Neville."

"I should be thanking you, Hermione. And you didn't really meet them, more just … saw them."

"No, I met them. And they were quite charming."

"You don't have to try and make me feel better. I know its mad, to talk to them when they don't even acknowledge me, but I have to. Otherwise, they might as well be dead, you know? I have to make the best of the parents I have, because in whatever form, they are still here with me."

Hermione gulped, thinking of her own parents. Her situation was the opposite of Neville's, in that her parents were fully-functional, but lost to her.

They reached the door of the Great Hall, and the tables were already half-full, the dinner bell must have sounded already. Before they entered, Neville turned to her, taking hold of her hand, making her look at him.

"You're going to wake up now, aren't you Hermione?"

She couldn't speak. In the midst of his turmoil, he had noticed that she was merely going through the motions of life, and had demonstrated, without saying a single word, why she needed to change that. Hermione was choked at his kindness, and generosity of spirit.

"I will, Neville. I promise."

"Great," he replied, grinning. "Let's go and eat."

-xxx-

Severus had two cauldrons simmering, and was stirring another with a glass rod in his left hand, whilst simultaneously jotting down notes in his brewing records with his right.

It had a been a productive Saturday in the privacy of his private laboratory, away from feeble-minded adolescents and the grotty messes they routinely made in the Potions classroom. In contrast, the private laboratory, always the preserve of the current Potions Master, or Mistress, was scrupulously clean, the equipment was of superior quality, and it had its own storeroom, which was by far the biggest draw.

Attempting to extract the required number of salamander tongues from a large jar that had been raped by a class of thirty first-years was a task he never wished to repeat again. Here in the private lab, all the stores were pristinely ordered, and it was here that he would brew the required remedies and potions for the school infirmary.

He always enjoyed working in here, for it was relaxed and he could not be disturbed. Well, technically he could be interrupted, as the door led off the second-floor corridor, but it would take a stupid or suicidal student who knocked unbidden at his private potions store.

Harry Potter had once been apprehended here, and Severus had accused him of stealing potion ingredients, and then of lying. As it had turned out, rather embarrassingly, Potter had been guilty of neither, but that was history now, as so many things were.

Severus was casually dressed in only his white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck and cravat removed, and untucked at the bottom, his sleeves rolled up to prevent splashes from the rather volatile brew he was testing. His dragon-hide boots were a must, as were his plain black trousers. His teaching robes and frock coat were hanging by the door, ready to armour himself with before returning to his own chambers. It was only in the privacy of his own rooms, and in here, that he would allow himself to disrobe.

The house-elves had delivered both his lunch and dinner here, and the arrival of tea and biscuits suggested that it was now evening. He still had a few hours more work to do, and so poured himself a cup.

There was a knock at the door.

It was most likely one of the staff, seeking him out. They could fuck off.

The knock sounded again, more insistently.

Rolling his eyes in annoyance and hoping that there hadn't been some appalling accident that required extra supplies of burn paste, Severus left the laboratory and walked through the store room, yanking open the door that led to the corridor.

Granger.

They stared at each other for a few moments.

"Yes?" he asked. "It is customary, when visiting the rooms of another, that you state your business for being there?"

She took a deep breath, as if summoning her reserves of courage. This was not unusual. He'd elicited this response from many a student, over the years.

"I need to live," she answered, simply.

"How very … interesting," he sneered, in reply. "And why is it essential that you tell me this?"

"Because … because, you need to live too. Sir."

He narrowed his eyes at her. What the fuck was the girl saying? What was she asking for?

He lifted his hand and gestured her into the storeroom, indicating that she should walk through into the laboratory beyond. This action, he suspected, would be his first mistake.

-xxx-

Hermione blinked as she walked through the storeroom, observing ingredients stored in jars, bottles and boxes, that were stacked from floor to ceiling, seeming to be meticulously labelled in Snape's distinctive handwriting. He'd pointed her towards the door at the back, so she kept walking, hearing the door to the corridor shut behind him.

She entered what must be his private laboratory, which looked and smelled incredible. It was all she could do not to start touching things, poking her nose in the cauldrons and reading his notes, which seemed to be everywhere.

"Why are you really here, Miss Granger?"

The deep voice behind her coincided with the door to the storeroom closing, leaving them secreted in the laboratory. She turned around to face him, for this conversation had been going through her head since dinner, when she'd returned to the privacy of her room, laying on the bed and staring up at the canopy above, trying to pretend that Hogwarts' most fearsome professor hadn't lit a fire in her that she was struggling to contain.

"Because, Sir, I don't care anymore."

He raised an imperious eyebrow, and pushed both his hands into his pockets.

"Explain."

"I don't care for rules, I don't care for restrictions. Yes, I want to pass my NEWTs, that is a personal challenge for me, but I don't wish to put my life on hold to do so."

His facial expression did not change, and clearly, he was not about to take up the refrain, so she blundered on, for better or worse, not really sure how much sense she was making.

"Today, I met two truly living ghosts."

"I am aware of where you went today, as you know."

"I have no right to waste a second more of the life and health, both physical and mental, that I have been granted."

Snape opened his mouth to answer her, but at that moment, one of the cauldrons began to bubble dangerously, letting out startling hisses of wet steam.

"Excuse me. I must attend to this."

Hermione nodded, and watched him work, in uncharacteristic silence. He waved his hands over the volatile potion, which calmed the hissing somewhat, but then he plucked his wand from his back pocket, casting a wandless spell that seemed to make the concoction thicker, stirring it with his other hand.

It was quite fascinating to watch a master at work. Uninvited, she hopped up on the work bench to better observe, sitting happily as his skilful fingers tended to the errant brew. An incantation was now drifting softly from his lips, as if he were singing a kind of lullaby. A lock of black hair fell into his face and over one eye, but he did not lose focus from his task.

He had a covering of dark hair on his pale forearms, and Hermione realised she'd never seen any of his flesh bared, before. The hair was sparse, straight, and for some reason, she wanted to touch it. The sinews of his forearms rippled in flexion as he went about his task, his hands utterly capable, and proficient in their craft.

At length, the brew calmed, and she heard him place it under a standard stasis charm that they used in their classes. He wiped his hands on a cloth, pushed his hair back from his face, and walked across the room, keeping his eyes trained upon her, as if she represented a threat. He stood before her.

"By all means, Granger, make yourself comfortable on my workbench."

"Thank you, Sir. I have," she replied, cheekily.

"You were watching me," he accused. "Just then."

"I was."

"Why?"

"I wanted to."

"Why?"

"All these questions, Sir."

"It makes a change from your infernal and persistent questioning in my classroom, Miss Granger."

She smiled, and to her surprise, the corner of his mouth turned up, just a little, just enough to perhaps constitute a smile in return. Hermione took a deep breath.

"I do need to live dangerously, Professor. You were right. Perhaps, after seven years of imminent danger being my everyday life, it's just too difficult for me to be … normal. Perhaps I don't want to be normal."

"You crave excitement," he stated, bluntly.

"I do."

"You think I can provide this."

It was a statement, not a question.

"I know you can."

"It would be a most unlikely … partnership," he admitted, taking a step closer to her, his waist almost touching her knees as she perched on the high workbench.

"I don't care."

"Do you not have a current paramour? I am sure Ronald Weasley would be most distressed to know what you were asking, and of whom you were asking it."

"We have made one another no promises," she dismissed, and he gave a short, unpleasant laugh. "I mean it. And what about you? Do you have a witch that you call your own?"

Snape put his hands on her jeans-covered knees at that question, pushing them apart and moving himself to stand in between them, so that she was effectively holding his hips and waist between her thighs. He had crossed the line. He slid one arm slowly around her back, placing his palm on her spine, his wide handspan spread across her back. The other hand went behind her head, as it had done last night in the corridor, insinuating his fingers into her thick curls, roughly taking hold of the back of her head.

"I have never … had a witch to call my own, Granger."

What? He'd never had a girlfriend, or partner? Did that mean he was a virgin, like her? Or just, he didn't do relationships, preferring short dalliances? Was he gay, preferring wizards? She opened her mouth to ask.

"Do not ask questions."

Hermione had never wanted anyone to kiss her as badly as she wanted this dark professor to kiss her, right now, and yet she had no real idea why, or what the attraction was. He was old, bad-tempered, rude, had highly-questionable ethics and could never be considered a handsome man.

"If you don't want me, Sir, then don't kiss me."

She heard him draw a deep intake of breath, and let it out slowly through his nose, his large nostrils flaring with the effort of simply breathing so heavily.

"Oh, I want you, Granger," he replied, his voice heady and dangerously low. "Make no mistake about that. As I said last night, it would be so easy for me. So easy for me to flout the teachers' code, to take you as a lover, to take my pleasure from you, and you would keep your silence, I know you would, for you would receive the same pleasure in return."

He seemed to be talking to himself, his mind perhaps attempting to justify what his body wanted, for his strong hands were still holding her head and back incredibly firmly. His fingers were not relaxed, they were taught with tension. Hermione lifted her hand, and placed a single finger on his lips, tracing across the lower one.

"I find, much like you," he muttered, her finger moving with the motion of his lips as he spoke, "that I care very little for rules, any more."

Without any further warning or deliberation, he closed the distance between them, dropping his head and angling hers towards him, touching his mouth to her lips. Hermione could feel a tremble as he started to move upon her, his lips were shaking, though his hands held her firm.

Holy shit, Professor Snape was kissing her.


	5. Chapter 5

Merlin's balls, he was kissing a student, and giving not two fucks about it. Granger had been completely correct, who cared for petty rules when they had all nearly died? She wanted to kiss him, and gods, he wanted to kiss her, so he damn well would.

He knew he was shaking, both with nerves and arousal, but the fire that was churning through his veins like a tidal wave was pushing him forwards, forcing him to take what he wanted.

And fuck, he wanted her, in every possible way.

Severus held the girl tightly, one arm around her slim back and the other keeping her head at a good angle to allow him to taste her mouth, and keep his big nose out of the way. He felt her lips move upon his, as if she were seeking more than he was giving. He slowly but firmly opened his mouth, tentatively testing to see if she would welcome more. Granger did not pull back, but continued to return his kiss, so he slipped out his tongue, and was gratified to feel hers waiting for him.

Bloody hell.

With a growl, he gave himself up to her, and to what they were doing, entirely. He pushed his tongue ungracefully but deeply into her mouth, the squeal of surprised pleasure that she made when he did so, heading straight for his cock. He felt her hands creep on to his chest, squeezing him gently, and they were warm and seductive through the material of his shirt.

Kissing this girl was fucking fantastic, and he growled impatiently as she clenched his chest, briefly breaking their kiss.

"Come to my chambers," he muttered, trying not to sound too needy, before taking her lips once again.

He loosened his hold on her as he snogged her open-mouthed, his whole jaw moving with the effort, feeling as if he could devour her, inch by delicious inch. Granger slid her hands up to his shoulders, her hands feeling tiny on his hard collarbone.

"I want to," she whispered.

"Stupid girl," he chided, against her lips. "And yet, I am equally stupid."

There had only been one paltry kiss, in his youth, with a young witch that had also been indoctrinated to Voldemort's ranks at the same time. Severus presumed he hadn't been that impressive, since she'd not returned for a second one. This moment, here, kissing this girl, was already transcending all previous experience.

He felt Granger run her fingers up the side of his neck, and shivered at the intimate contact, luxuriating in the softness of her skin, and the tenderness with which she was touching him.

Potions, he thought, good sense finally permeating his haze of arousal. I must secure the potions. An explosion in the private laboratory may prove rather difficult to explain.

-xxx-

Professor Snape had lowered his head to one side as he'd been kissing her, and she was now stroking the side of his neck. He was receiving her touch as if he'd been starved of affection for too many years now, which Hermione suspected was the truth. His eyes were half-closed, long black lashes stark against his white cheeks, and she had an urge to run her fingers through his long hair, greasy or not. His eyes opened fully before she had a chance to decide on her next action.

"I need to ensure that these potions are safely contained before leaving. Return to your room. I shall call you via the Floo when I am back in my private chambers. Then … if you still desire to continue …?"

"Wild centaurs couldn't stop me," she replied.

"Merlin," he replied, his black eyes intense, locked on hers. "Did you sustain a blow to the head today, Granger?"

"In a metaphorical sense, possibly. I certainly made some big decisions about my life today, and the way I want to live it."

"So it would seem. And this; our current occupation, this is what you want?"

"I think I've made that quite clear, Sir."

He arched an elegant eyebrow at her, and rather than finding it terrifying, as she might have done in the classroom, now she just found it … well, rather sexy, if truth be known.

"Indeed, you have."

"I have," she confirmed, wrapping her arms around his neck and seeking his lips, taking the initiative to start the next kiss.

The professor responded beautifully, opening his mouth to her and rolling his tongue around hers, kissing with a breathless passion that she'd never dreamed that Snape could be concealing under that black-clothed armour and spiky demeanour of his. It appeared that their mouths fitted together perfectly, and his lips were warmer and fuller than she'd have thought, swollen from their snogging thus far. He groaned into her mouth and drew back, apparently with reluctance.

"You are a fucking tease, Granger. Now go, before I take you on this workbench."

She raised her eyebrow in mockery of his own standard expression, and he lifted her bodily from the bench, carrying her towards the door. She wrapped her legs around his waist as they walked from the laboratory and into the potions storeroom, and he set her down just before the door that led to the hallway, in front of the ladder that enabled him to inspect the upper shelves. She climbed up a couple of rungs to even the height difference.

"You'll finish quickly, won't you?" she asked.

"Undoubtedly so, since it has been a very long time for me."

What? Ohhh …. Hermione felt herself blush scarlet, and the heat rush to her face and neck.

"I meant, um, finish clearing up in here, Sir."

"I know what you meant," he replied, bluntly, pressing himself against her as she stood on the ladder, at eye-level with her now. "It seemed an appropriate moment to provide a warning of a different kind."

Hermione snaked her arms around his neck, enjoying watching the flash of his black eyes at her action, and feeling what must be quite a substantial erection pressing against her.

"No warnings needed. Let's just see what happens. I have no plan here. This is all new to me from this point."

"Your lack of a plan sounds excellent. Now, you must go. And Granger, should you change your mind, then …"

"I won't," she interrupted, firmly.

He gave a single, formal nod, and offered his hand so that she might step back down the ladder. She jumped the two rungs, landing next to the door, which he was opening.

"Thank you for the notes, Professor Snape," she said, for the benefit of anyone who might be walking down the corridor. "Enjoy the rest of your weekend."

The door slammed shut behind her, the wooden thud echoing along the empty corridor.

Hermione walked back to her room, not in a daze, for truthfully, she'd not felt such clarity for a long while, but in what could only be described as a euphoric state. Astonished at the lack of regret she felt for snogging a teacher, and Professor Snape, at that, she was instead surprised at how right everything had felt.

The sum of her previous experience totalled a few furtive snogs with Viktor Krum during her fourth year, which had been strange, but rather exciting. They'd had a few more prolonged snogs and some over-the-clothes groping the following summer when she'd visited him in Bulgaria, but that had been it. The world had become a dangerous place for overseas travel by then, and they now corresponded only occasionally via owl. It had been a surprise to see Viktor at Bill and Fleur's wedding, though of course, he and Fleur had become close friends during the Tri-Wizard tournament.

He'd danced with her politely, but an hour later had been caught kissing one of Fleur's Veela cousins behind the wedding cake. Harry had told her this summer that Viktor had still been interested at the wedding, but admitted he'd warned Krum off, advising him that Hermione now had a boyfriend. This had been for Ron's benefit, apparently.

Which led her to Ron, she thought, opening the door to her room and locking it behind her. What did she feel about him? Probably not that much, given what she'd spent the last half an hour doing.

No, that wasn't true. She loved Ron deeply, just as much as she loved Harry. But … had she just fallen into this not-quite-a-relationship in the aftermath of the war? The kissing was pleasant enough, and the times when his hand had brushed her bum or breast hadn't been totally abhorrent, but it paled into insignificance compared to the feelings that the simple nip of Professor Snape's crooked teeth upon her earlobe had ignited.

When Voldemort had been felled, the wizarding world had gone slightly crazy. Nothing was normal, people weren't themselves. It was only now, as normalcy was being restored, that everyone's true selves were beginning to take root again. She had been denying her true self, denying who she really was.

Who was Hermione Granger?

She was a girl, a young adult witch, who loved to learn, and had a thirst to educate herself to the highest possible level. Her logic ruled her emotions, most of the time. She was straight-talking, disliking extraneous detail. She was fiercely loyal to her friends, and expected the same in return.

Hermione Granger was also passionate, so she needed a partner who invited and accepted all the passion she held inside, to be a conduit for its release. She didn't want polite kisses. She wanted open-mouthed snogs that made her knees crumple, teasing touches that gave her prickles on her skin, and most desperately, she needed someone who could tame the fire she knew burned inside.

She'd never felt the desire to experience sex in her life, thus far. It was always something with rather low priority on her to-do list.

Until last night, in the corridor. With her bloody professor.

And now? Now she desired it, and had no fear of admitting the truth. Well, not to him, anyway. Which was curious, in itself.

Hermione kicked off her shoes and flicked her socks into the laundry basket, heading for the bathroom to clean her teeth and see exactly what her hair now looked like after Snape's fingers had been through it.

Wow, she thought, looking in the bathroom mirror.

Her face was glowing red, and her lips were plump and pink. She brought a finger up to touch them, for they felt unfamiliar. They were soft, and she smiled. Her hair was a fright, as always, so she muttered a detangling spell to sort out the worst of the mess.

Now there was nothing to do but wait, something she was not very good at. Grabbing a book, she dived onto the bed, making a comfortable nest of pillows against the headboard to lean on, and settled down.

-xxx-

It was fully dark outside before she heard his deep voice calling her from the small fireplace, and she'd had to light the lamp next to her bed in order to continue reading. Putting her book down, she hot-footed it over to the fireplace, and knelt on the hearth, looking into the glowing green flames that surrounded his head.

"Hi."

"Good evening, Miss Granger," he said, rather formally, considering what they had been doing earlier. "I have now returned to my chambers, should you wish to, I mean … should you …"

He sounded awkward, which was a tone of voice she'd never heard from Snape before.

"I do wish to. Let me get the Floo powder," she interrupted, standing up. "How do I do this, just call out for your private rooms?"

"Stop. The connection is already open. All you need to do … is step through."

Hermione swallowed hard, already feeling in her ears the roar of her blood beginning to flow faster, her excited heart pushing her lifeblood too quickly around her body. She stepped over the grate, taking the hand that he'd extended and stepping through into what must be his sitting room, as if it were merely one pace away from her own. This castle was astounding, at times.

Her eyes roved the room, assimilating her surroundings as she'd done when she entered the laboratory. The walls were lined with books, so many that it made her head whirl. There was a huge dark wood desk, piled high with parchments, and the fireplace she'd just stepped through was large too, much bigger than her own.

A large green sofa was in front of the fire, and two armchairs with a table between them were over by the bookshelves. Snape himself was still attired as he had been in the laboratory, although Hermione noted that he too had removed his shoes and socks, and his feet were stark white in contrast to his formal trousers. He must have been wearing a glamour earlier, too, since she could now see the extensive, jagged scarring around his neck, visible above the open collar of his white shirt. She couldn't help but look.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't stare."

He sighed.

"If we are going to proceed, then you may as well look upon it, for it is a part of me, now."

Hermione took a step closer to him, her eyes still fixated on the scar. It was huge, wicked-looking, and it was a wonder the snake hadn't taken his head right off, it was so big.

"May I touch it?"

"As you wish."

She lifted her hand to his neck, and watched him flinch, but try to conceal it. Tracing the ropey lines of the thick scarring from one side of his throat, almost to the other, she could not help but recall witnessing the attack that had put it there. The sight of this powerful wizard being mauled by that giant snake, being hurled around the floor of the Shrieking Shack as he'd fought for his life, was one of the most repulsive things she'd ever had the misfortune to observe.

There was a tickle of warm breath on the back of her hand, and she looked up, seeing those familiar black eyes staring down at her. Eyes that had terrorised and frustrated her for so long, but now intrigued her with their promise.

"Should we, er, discuss this first, Professor? I mean, should we talk about it?"

He continued to look at her.

"No."

Snape took hold of the hand that was on his neck, and pushed it behind his head, bowing down and capturing her lips in one swift, urgent movement. She made a sound, nothing intelligible, just surprise and pleasure rolled into one. As she opened her mouth he pushed his heavy tongue inside, seeking out her own and resuming the dance they had started in the laboratory.

His arms were locked around her waist, squeezing her tightly, pulling her up to better address the height difference between them, so that she was almost on tiptoes. Hermione slid her free hand up his chest and behind his neck to join the other one, threading her fingers through the back of his long hair as she'd wanted to do earlier.

This made him groan, and she felt the noise in her mouth as well as hearing it.

"You know not what you do to me, Miss Granger," he told her, his mouth inches from hers and his eyes half-closed in drowsy pleasure.

To answer, she kissed him again, and he reciprocated by stepping backwards, pulling her with him, until his legs hit the back of the sofa. He sat down, lifting her onto his lap so that she was straddling him. Never had she been in such a position with a boy, let alone a grown wizard. The throb she felt between her legs was so intense that Hermione wondered if Snape could feel it.

There was a twitch beneath her, and she looked up to see a languorous smirk creeping across his face, the likes of which she had never seen before, not on him.

"That is what you do to me," he muttered, hoarsely, before taking her head and bringing it down so that he could take possession of her lips once more, shoving his tongue roughly into her mouth in a kiss of such depth she'd never have believed it possible.

Hermione's pulse roared in her ears as she snogged him, her mind and body fully committed to the kiss. This was what had been missing from her life. This passion, this insane connective … chemistry they appeared to have, blazing between them. It was as if she had opened her eyes to see beyond the norm, and had found gold in a place where no one else had thought to look.

Snape grabbed hold of her hips and began to undulate them back and forth, and she steadied herself on his shoulders. His breathing became more laboured and the kissing more disjointed, but yet he did not stop either occupation. Faster and faster he moved her, rubbing her crotch upon his, building up a hot friction that was driving her insane with how good it felt. It must be pleasurable for him too, for she felt his dick harden further beneath her.

"Fucking Merlin!" he shouted, tearing his mouth away from hers, and with some effort, shifted her from on top of him, laying on her back on the sofa.

"Engorgio," he cast, getting to his knees on the cushions and making a cursory movement with his fingers.

Hermione felt the sofa expand, both width and lengthways, as he fell forwards, pushing her right leg to the side so that he could push himself between the cradling hold of her thighs. Without missing a beat, he took control of her mouth, resuming their kiss and beginning to roll his hips, his erection now fully grinding against her covered pussy.

She put her arms around his back, feeling the rippling of the efforts that his muscles were making as she clenched against his flanks. His body began to shake, and his mouth was rigid against hers, no longer kissing her, just holding his lips in position.

"Kiss me, witch," he hissed, in a tortured voice.

Kiss him? His lips were solid. Unless he meant …?

Encouraged by her idea, she dipped her head to his neck and bestowed a suckling but gentle kiss to some of the scar tissue there, allowing her tongue to slip out and make a wet trail across it.

The intensity of his frottage increased, along with a litany of creative swear words that fell from his lips, suggesting that he liked her kissing the neglected skin that had been so dreadfully damaged.

"I can't," he bit out, grinding against her so fast and so hard it was like he was fucking her through their clothes. "I cannot!"

Snape let out a loud roar, that became a cry of despair as he gave one final thrust against her, and began to slow his movements.

"No," he moaned, almost inaudible. "Please, no."

He had just come.

-xxx-

What the fuck?

He had just come in his fucking trousers like a fucking schoolboy.

What the hell had he been thinking, putting them in that position? There was only ever going to be one way it was going to end, and now he had humiliated himself beyond belief.

Severus lifted himself off the girl's body, awkwardly moving off the sofa and turning away from her, summoning his wand from his coat and casting a Tergeo everywhere from the waist down, until he was sure every last drop of his badly-timed spunk had been eradicated.

Spinning back to her, looking debauched and glorious on his sofa, he noticed that she had a wet patch on the front of her jeans, no doubt caused by the seeping through of his spectacular ejaculation. How fucking embarrassing. He sent a Tergeo to her, also. Granger could have cast it herself, of course, but somehow it seemed more polite to clear up his own mess.

He sat down on the sofa, in his original position.

"I must apologise."

"Why?" she answered, scrambling to sit up, and crawled down the ludicrously-expanded sofa towards him.

"Reducio," he cast, returning the sofa to its original size, as if by doing so he could erase his shame, before sending his wand to his desk and turning towards her.

"Granger."

"Sir."

"You will recall, me telling you earlier that there had been no witch to call my own?"

"Yes."

Seriously? Now was the time that Hermione Granger decided to turn monosyllabic? He could have done with her taking over the reins of this conversation, for it was mortifying. Her brown eyes were fixed on his face, sincere and honest, her innocence plain to see. His own, was less apparent, hidden behind the lines of age, and the demeanour of a wicked man.

"This is the reason for my … prematurity, just then. I am, as they say, inexperienced."

"I'm sorry, what?"

For fuck's sake. Did she need to him to spell it out?

"I am a virgin, Granger," he hissed, irritated at her slow uptake, which was most unusual for her.

"I understood that bit," she replied, "I just find it difficult to believe, Sir. You know, its you, and you're so …"

Her hands flailed around as if she would find the right word to describe him floating in thin air before her.

"I am, what?"

He felt his notorious eyebrow raise into his hairline, seeking her answer.

"I don't even know a word that would describe you with any degree of accuracy. But you are the last wizard in the world I would have expected still to be a virgin, Professor."

"I am unsure as to whether I should take your answer as a compliment or an insult, Miss Granger."

"I'm a virgin, too," she replied, reaching across and taking hold of his hand, beginning to thumb his palm in the most tender touch he'd ever received. "I've only kissed two people before you."

"Well, then you are one up on myself, then."

She seemed to think for a moment, as if considering her options, still holding his hand and keeping up that heady stroking on his hand.

"I think this was meant to be."

Severus could not help but curl his lip in disdain.

"Please tell me that you are not about to spout some puerile tripe about destiny, or vacuous nonsense about soul bonds? Which I must advise you, Granger, are magically impossible."

"Not at all. I probably phrased that wrongly. What I mean, is that it feels like we have good chemistry between us. You've made me feel things … I've never felt."

Damn her. Overachieving little chit had hit the proverbial nail right on the head. He leant back against the sofa, hooking one leg across the other, and sighed deeply.

"Likewise, Miss Granger," he conceded, and he felt her squeeze his hand. "But this, a relationship between us, is not a good idea."

"Shall we discuss what a terrible idea it is tomorrow? Because, there's something I need, that I'd really like you to provide, as I'm rather uncomfortable sitting here."

"And that would be?"

She took his hand, and led it between her legs, where she felt hot and damp beneath his fingers, even through the thick denim of her Muggle jeans. She must be soaking wet.

Oh yes, he wanted that.

Feeling a smirk tug at his lips, Severus leaned towards her, offering his lips for her to kiss, for unfathomably, she seemed to like doing it. He rubbed his hand against her cunt, enjoying the motion of her hips as he excited her, and felt her tongue become more frantic against his own. Inexplicably, he was turning her on. He was.

He stopped, removing both his mouth and his hands, enjoying the look of affront upon her face. Severus held out his hand, as if he were inviting her to dance, not to his bed.

"I believe we would be more comfortable in the bedroom," he stated, tugging Granger to her feet and guiding her across the room to his bedchamber. "But I must advise you, I am a novice at such things. My knowledge is purely theoretical."

"Me too, Professor," she smiled, hopping up onto the edge of his bed. "But I was hoping we could learn together."

"Indeed, we can, Granger," he agreed, dousing the lights, setting the fire to a low burn and stretching himself out on the bed beside her.


	6. Chapter 6

Moving her thighs further apart, he slid his fingers the length of her labia before taking hold of each side and pulling them apart, spreading her open, exposing all her deepest secrets to his view. Holy fuck. Granger was beautiful, in a way he'd never seen before. Pink, innocent, and glistening with an arousal that was all for him.

He slipped his fingers into the cleft at the top to ensure that her little clitoris was uncovered; and began to roll it between his index finger and thumb, taking hold of the anxious bud with a much firmer, more definite touch that she'd been doing to herself.

"Oh, shit!" she gasped, her hips jumping at his first touch of her clit, but his large hands were splayed wide enough to keep her in place.

"Relax, Granger."

"Oh! But it's so …"

"I am glad to hear it."

Severus turned his other hand palm-upwards, and inserted his middle finger inside her, pushing all the way in this time, all the while keeping her clitoris moving, keeping her spread open before him. He watched her eyes become unfocused; and heard her breathing increase in volume and speed. This little witch was entirely dependent on the touch of his hands and fingers, and it felt like nothing on earth. His dick pressed urgently against the confines of his trousers, indicating his own arousal, as if he needed the reminder.

He knew he was exciting her. Too many times, he had been present at Death Eater revels, where captured Muggle women and girls had been goaded into unwilling orgasms, forced to climax after climax, around the prick of which ever piece of shit was currently raping her. It had been a favourite perversion of the female Death Eaters, to use their intimate knowledge of their own form to keep the Muggles spread apart for their rapists, teasing and tormenting their clits so expertly and persistently that the victims would come repeatedly, screaming both in agony and ecstasy as they were mocked and jeered, adding to their humiliation.

Severus had watched. Of course he had. The Death Eaters would be screeching with delight at how much the Muggles were enjoying their cocks, since they were constantly being forced to orgasm, despite their tears and pleas for mercy, and it was a pitiful sight. But yet, he had watched.

He had even jeered along, at times. It would have been suicidal not to. Revels were not optional, for a Death Eater. When he had first joined Voldemort, he and the younger recruits had been desperate to join the Revels, but were kept wanting, forced to observe as the older witches and wizards slaked their lusts, promised that all this would be theirs … one day soon.

It had been at one of these gatherings that Severus had experienced his only kiss before tonight, a deep and lengthy snog with a daughter of a Death Eater who had been brought along that night. He'd been punished for it, of course, but it had been worth it. He'd never even caught her name.

When Voldemort had disappeared after the murder of the Potters, Severus had not yet been high enough rank to indulge in the Revels. After Voldemort returned, Snape had managed to keep himself out of the firing line by claiming that celibacy was expected by all male teachers of Hogwarts, and that he was reluctant to break that vow lest it jeopardise his position at the school. Riddle had believed this well enough, not really caring who observed and who participated, so long as they were there, subscribing to his warped ideals.

So, as much as he despised his method of learning the skills he was now using on Miss Granger, the fact remained that Severus knew where to place his fingers in order to send the girl over the edge, which is what he wanted to see, more than anything. He wanted to watch this intelligent, magically-powerful, very proper young witch come trembling on his hands, for it would be a sight to behold. His cock strained at the crotch of his trousers at the thought.

He began to flicker against her clitoris with his thumb, speeding his movements as he watched her stomach muscles start to contract as she chased down her orgasm.

"Oh, Merlin … don't …" she breathed, and he held her writhing hips steady.

"I'm not stopping, Granger. You are too close."

"But … ohhhh …."

Severus took hold of her clit and worked it like a small cock, masturbating it up and down, whilst removing his other hand from her vagina and tickling the sensitive skin of her inner labia, all around the rock-hard bud.

"Into my hand, girl. Let go, now. I want it. I want everything you have to give."

Her hips went rigid as she fell over her cliff, copious amounts of fluid squirting from her hole as her whole cunt spasmed in climax, gasping for air.

"Oh yes," he crooned, stroking his fingertips all over her pulsing genitals, "Oh yes, girl. You are fucking delicious when you come. Let me look, let me see you."

He opened her pussy wide to observe the pulsing of her hole, still dripping the juices that his touch had elicited. Bloody Merlin. Bloody, fucking hell.

"Professor Snape?" she whispered.

"Miss Granger?"

He arched an eyebrow.

"Please, Sir, can we do it? Now?"

"That is what you desire?"

"Fucking hell, yes."

Severus felt his mouth curl into a satisfied smile, and, not thinking about the good sense of what they were doing, vanished his trousers and undershorts in a trice, for he had no wish to fuck around trying to remove clothing. He was upon her in a second, his bared erection touching the gaping wetness of her entrance, desperate to get inside, to finally rid himself of his hated virginity.

He propped himself up on his elbows, kissing her swollen lips and tasting the sweetness of her mouth. He wanted to melt when she put her arms around his neck, massaging the tense cords there and encouraging his kiss.

"Granger, I want this, but are you …"

"I'm sure," she interrupted. "Please, now, before I lose my nerve."

He used his hand to guide the bulbous head of his cock inside her, almost overcome by the warmth and tightness, and pushed himself in, a little way, before reaching what must be her virgin barrier. Fuck, what should he do now? Just ram through it? How hard did one have to thrust? He did not want to hurt this girl.

"I'm in, but I can't … I don't want to hurt you."

He sounded pathetic and helpless even to his own ears.

"Just do it. A quick pain, get it over with. Please."

Her brown eyes were so trusting, that he trusted her in return. Severus forced his hips into one sharp, upward thrust, forcing his way fully inside her, breaking through her barrier and finding the rest of her welcoming channel beyond it. Granger cried out, just once, and closed her eyes in pain, a few tears squeezing from the corners that ran down her cheeks. He kissed them away, kissed the girl all over her face, stroking her hair, keeping his cock seated deep inside her, not moving, allowing her to become accustomed to the intrusion.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, trying not to focus on how fucking amazing she felt, sheathing his cock like the tightest glove, and attempting to ignore the increasing urge to move.

"It's ok," she replied, opening her eyes and allowing him to wipe the rest of the tears away. "I knew it would hurt. Thank goodness I'm here with you, taking care of me, rather than some stupid boy who only cares about his own pleasure."

"You are the pleasure, Granger."

"So are you, Sir. Can you try moving a little, I'm getting used to the feeling."

Severus didn't need to be told twice. He drew his hips backwards a short way, then pushed gently back inside her again, wanting to pass out with the pleasure, but repeating the action a few times until he felt her arms wrap around him and slide down his shirt-covered back, reaching his bare arse and take herself a handful of each cheek.

"A bit more," she asked, pushing him inside by means of his own bum. "I feel, really full up."

He couldn't help but grin at her, stupidly. She was young. Too young.

"Your pain is gone?" he enquired.

"Almost. Just keep going. I want this to be perfect."

"It is both our first times, Granger. It is unlikely to be perfect. Lower your standards, girl, for Merlin's sake."

"Do you know what you're doing?"

He raised his eyebrow at her. Cheeky wench.

"I think that I should be able to manage, girl. I am presuming that my cock will fill in the gaps in my knowledge, for me."

She blushed at his coarse language, and he smirked at her, beginning to draw out and push in further, building up a rhythm that felt a million times better than any wank with his own hand had ever done.

-xxx-

Hermione lay in the professor's huge four-poster bed, looking up at his earnest face, as he gently thrust in and out of her. The initial sharp pain had been bloody horrible, causing tears of shock to spring to her eyes, but she was surprised how quickly it was easing off. She had trailed her hands down to his bum to guide him into a rhythm, and he was now following his own.

His long, raven-black hair hung down from his face, and there was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. He'd pushed himself onto his hands from his elbows once he'd started moving, and Hermione could not help her fingers fluttering to his chest and starting to unbutton his white shirt, revealing a pale chest that had several scars, and a light covering of black chest hair, stark against his skin. She carded her fingers through the hair, and heard him groan, so she flicked her eyes up to his, seeing them burning with desire.

"Do you like me touching you?" she asked, toying with the slightly rough hair.

"I fucking love it," he growled, actually growled, before releasing a flurry of quick thrusts that made her squeal.

Hermione pushed his shirt back from his shoulders, so she could feel the smooth skin there, and he thrust faster, his jaw clenched as he rocked hard inside her.

"Show me your tits, girl," he begged, looking down at her covered chest, for she was still wearing the striped top she'd worn to St Mungo's.

Hermione pulled her top up, resting it above her breasts, which were contained in a red lace and satin bra that matched the knickers he'd removed. She'd developed a taste for nice, matching underwear, after the months on the run with only a handful of pairs to her name.

"Oh, holy hell," he groaned, lifting one hand to grab hold of a breast, and squeezing it. "I am done, girl. I am done with you. You are too … fucking … good."

Professor Snape dropped to his elbows, pressing his naked chest against her bared stomach, and she could feel every thrust he made, every muscle that contracted as he pounded into her. His teeth were bared with the effort of fucking, and Hermione wasn't sure if he was actually breathing, until with one huge effort, he roared his completion and she felt the hot seed spurt up her insides and down her walls as he continued to thrust.

"Take it all," he gasped, with difficulty. "Fuck. Fuccckk."

When his movements had finally stilled, he lay on top of her, breathing hard, and she was, too. She held him, stroking her hands down his back, under his shirt, feeling some rough scar tissue beneath his fingers.

"Sir?"

He pushed himself up to one elbow, with difficulty.

"Holy shit, Granger."

She smiled.

"I agree."

Snape gave her a rough, wet kiss, pushing his hand behind her head and snogging her with an exhausted, but no less sincere, passion.

"I believe that we've made quite a mess, between us," he said, pecking small kisses on her lips.

"I think we have."

"Allow me."

He lifted himself from her gently, easing what felt like a rather limp penis from inside her, and summoned his wand to cast a Tergeo over them both. Then he sat next to her, reaching for her hand. Worried, she sat up, pulling her top down to cover her bra and stomach.

"I have no idea what to say or do now, Miss Granger."

"Neither do I, Professor."

"Do you wish to return to your room?"

"No," she replied, quickly, before he'd even finished asking the question.

"This is a terrible idea," he said, his shoulders sinking in resignation.

"Do you wish me to return to my room?" she asked, a little nervous to hear the answer.

Snape looked up, those black eyes full of emotion.

"No."

"Can I stay?"

"It would seem that you are," he said, quietly, stroking the inside of her hand as she'd done to him on the sofa. "Come, up."

He moved off the bed, pulling her with him, and threw the covers back with a wave of his wand, that he then placed on the bedside table. No wonder the bed had been so comfortable, for he had sheets, a blanket, an eiderdown and a dark green bedspread. He poured two glasses of water from the pewter jug on the chest of drawers, and they both drank deeply, parched from all the kissing, no doubt.

"I have never spent the night with a woman, in my life," he admitted, placing the glasses back on the tray. "You will be the first."

"That makes me very happy," she replied, genuinely.

"It does?"

"Yes."

"I want to remove the rest of your clothes, girl. I want to hold you, naked against me in my bed, for as many hours as we are permitted to sleep."

To answer him, Hermione pushed the unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders, and it was the last item he had been wearing. She stroked her hands down his chest, feeling his sharp intake of breath as she reached his stomach, only stopping her as she sank her fingers into the trail of hair that led down to his groin.

"No more, for now. That part of me is exhausted, Granger."

Hermione grinned at him, aware that it was a wicked smile, with intent to tease.

"I can see that you are going to be more trouble in my bedroom that you are in my classroom", he reprimanded.

"Does that mean I can come again?"

A filthy smirk split Professor Snape's face, and Hermione instantly decided she wanted to see that expression many, many more times. He reached towards her, taking the hem of her striped top, and pulled it over her head in one smooth movement, throwing it to the floor. With desire in his eyes, he took hold of a breast in each hand, kneading the soft flesh through her red brassiere, unable to stop himself from licking his lips.

He put his arms around her, and slid his long nose under her curly hair, placing his lips right next to her ear as he slipped his hands down her back and began to unhook the lace and satin garment that was the last piece of clothing she was wearing.

"It is my intention that you will indeed come again, girl. On every visit you make to these chambers, I hope."

Hermione gasped as she felt the brassiere loosen, for he had been successful with the unfastening rather quickly, and his long fingers trailed around her sides, following the path of the red bra as he removed it, seeking her bare breasts underneath and cupping them in his hands with a groan of pleasure.

"Just as I had hoped, Granger. Your tits are perfect."

He dropped her bra to the floor, stroking the soft underside of her breasts before lightly tweaking the nipple of each one.

"Get yourself into my bed, girl," he ordered, and Hermione found herself keen to comply, her head spinning with tiredness, arousal and excitement all at the same time.

Snape followed her in, pulling the covers over them both and spooning his naked body around hers, his chest to her spine and a possessive hand on her stomach.

"If I had my way, you would never leave here again," he growled, kissing her cheek. "But, let us face reality, tomorrow."

"Agreed," she replied, softly, taking hold of the hand that was splayed on her stomach and interlacing her fingers with his, feeling him squeeze her hand.

Before succumbing to sleep, hearing his breathing begin to slow, Hermione found it utterly bizarre that she was naked in Professor Snape's bed, with the man himself wrapped around her, equally naked, and that … well, it wasn't strange at all. There was nowhere else on earth she'd rather be.


	7. Chapter 7

Whatever excuses Severus might have been concocting through the night, that involved waking early, sneaking quietly out of bed and heading to the private lab, leaving nothing but his apologies in a note, flew out of the window faster than a speeding delivery owl when he truly awoke, looked over, and saw the ethereal nymph that had been gifted to him.

Miss Granger lay on her back, arms above her head with her copious hair falling in dangerously-alluring curls around her hands. One sight of her bared breasts, those pert tits with the rosy pink nipples that he was now getting his first proper sight of, convinced him that cowardice would not be the best option in this situation, and that he'd made his bed, so to speak, he would be one stupid fucking bastard not to lie in it.

Severus couldn't help himself, and more to the point, he didn't want to. Why the hell should he? He'd given his mind, body and soul to achieve the peace the wizarding world now enjoyed, why should he continue to deny himself, continue to feel unworthy? He had more than proved his worth, and if the fruits of his labour were finally being offered, he was damn well going to take them.

If he got fired, he genuinely didn't care anymore – twenty years of minimal expenses whilst resident at the school meant that his Gringotts vault was fuller than most wizards of his age, he had no children, no dependents. Yes, Severus Snape could do was he fucking well liked, for the first time in thirty-eight years.

So, he tasted. All his life, he had dreamed of taking a witch's nipple in his mouth, suckling deeply, arousing her as he comforted himself with the most basic of touches, the most instinctive from a mother to a child, the most erotic between a man and a woman. He sealed his lips over the girl's firm breast, mouthing the soft flesh and swirling his tongue hungrily around her nipple, speeding his strokes as he felt her awaken and begin to move under his touch.

"Oh …" he heard her whisper, and felt a sleepy hand move down to tousle gently in his hair.

"Good morning," he rumbled, around her nipple, unwilling to remove himself from his treat.

"That feels really good."

At her words of affirmation, Severus suckled deeper, adding his hand to her other breast, hefting the warm mound in his palm and flickering his finger around the nipple, trying to make it as erect as the one in his mouth. He had missed this, playing meaningfully with the girl's tits, last night, finding himself having full sex with her before either of them had removed their upper garments. Well, he would make up for that, now.

At length, he kissed up to her neck, seeking her mouth, covering her lips with his wet ones, wishing her a good morning in the best way he could think of, having never woken up with a witch in his bed, let alone one as young and as succulent as Miss Granger. He encircled her with his arms, allowing his hands to run riot over her nakedness, not able to touch enough of her soft body to satisfy him.

"You don't regret anything, then?" she asked, pushing back from him a little, twirling the black hair on his chest.

He regarded her, looking down his long nose and wondering what the fuck she was doing here. He could see what was in it for himself, but for her? What was she getting out of this transaction?

"I am quite sure, Granger, that I shall regret everything. However, I find myself hard pressed to care when your body is warming my bed."

"Let's not discuss it, then," she replied, cheekily, dropping a quick kiss on his lips, as naturally as if she'd done just that, a thousand times before.

"That suits me," he mumbled, seeking her mouth again to resume the kiss, nudging her leg with his morning erection, quite intentionally.

"Do you want to do it again?" she asked, nudging him right back.

"Only if you are not sore," he replied, dropping his hand eagerly between her legs and pushing her thighs apart, stroking two fingers the length of her slit.

"I, um, I think I feel okay, but I suppose I won't know until we start."

Severus began to massage her pussy with three fingers, gradually opening her up, teasing her clitoris out from hiding to get the girl's juices to start flowing again. She had been as wet as anything last night, just from his touch, so clearly Granger had been left wanting for quite some time, if her reaction to his advances were any indicator. Even in the corridor, when he had caught her out after curfew, the slightest sensual touch had been enough to leave her panting.

Idiot boys, he thought. If he were Potter or Weasley he'd have sniffed her inherent, natural sexuality out years ago, and secured this witch for himself. As it was, their loss was his gain.

Using touch alone, since their lower halves were still under the bedcovers, he continued to masturbate her, knowing that to have her aroused and wet would ease his path inside, and cause her the least pain, for he knew his cock was large, and her hymen was still recently broken and liable to be sore.

As Granger became more lost in her own pleasure, and her kisses became more disjointed, Severus bent his dark head to her breast once again, taking the sweet tit in his mouth and suckling, circling her erect nipple roughly with his sharp tongue. He felt her hips move against his wrist, driving him faster, and he did not leave her wanting, shuffling his fingers more rapidly until she clutched his bare back, gasping out her orgasm as he felt it drip from her, warm fluid in which he dabbled his fingertip.

"Oh, gosh …" she panted, scratching his skin.

"Indeed," he replied, inhaling deeply through his wide nostrils as he climbed atop her, quite astonished that this appeared to be happening for a second time.

Not trusting himself to find the right place without a little guidance, Severus used his hand to fold the rounded head of his cock inside her, before sliding the rest in, slowly. The speed was partly for her, to avoid hurting her, but also, if he was honest, mostly for himself, to enjoy the blissfully-slow sensation of exquisite tightening around his neglected dick as he entered her.

"Bloody Merlin, Granger," he hissed, as he drew out and them pushed back in again. "You feel phenomenal, girl. I could fuck you … endlessly."

-xxx-

Hermione laid her hands on his bare shoulders, enjoying the ripples of his lean, sinewy muscles under her palms as he made love to her, his hips a slow grind as he wound them into her, his cock stretching her insides with a most delicious ache. And Merlin, she was aching, but somehow it wasn't painful, she wanted to welcome him again, wanted the feeling of being filled so completely that the sensation took her out of herself, took away the numbness that she'd been feeling and replaced it with life, and excitement and promise.

She watched him, for he was still finding his rhythm, just as she was. She watched as he closed his eyes on the instroke, keeping himself deep inside her for a second, before opening them as he pulled back, his piercing black eyes roving her face, full of desire and approval. Hermione had wanted to see that look on Professor Snape's face for seven long years, and now finally, she had it.

"You are beautiful."

It was such a simple statement, but coming from such lips as his, it was infused with every emotion that his words could not convey, Hermione was sure of it.

"Thank you," she whispered, lifting a hand to his face and threading her fingers through his hair, observing his striking features - so angular, so distinctive. "So are you."

And she meant it, even when she saw the look of disagreement flash across his face. Professor Snape could never be described as a handsome wizard, but yet his aquiline profile, capable lips and devastatingly expressive eyes made him a prize, in her opinion. And since she was fucking him, hers was the only opinion that counted.

"I am afraid this is not going to last long, little witch," he apologised, grimacing as he sped the thrusting movements of his hips. "You are too tempting, and I am too unpracticed."

In response, Hermione stroked her hands firmly down his back, feeling the ridges of uneven skin under her fingers, and gripped his flanks, guiding and accepting the curve of his spine as he heaved against her. Snape allowed his head to drop between her neck and shoulder, and Hermione could feel his breathing hot and heavy as he pumped into her, his teeth gnashing together as he let his climax loose with a shout, and a long groan, keeping his dick pressed tight inside as it pulsed with his orgasm.

The bell for Sunday breakfast rang, loud and clanging, echoing from the corridor.

They looked at each other, uncertain for a few seconds, and then she laughed, breaking the tension.

"Saved by the bell," she observed, wryly.

"If that bell had rung a second sooner I would have permanently removed its clapper so that it could never fucking disturb me again," Snape groused, withdrawing his penis from her and sitting up.

"I have to go to breakfast, don't I?" Hermione asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

"As much as I would like to sweep you into the shower with me, since I am sure you are just as dirty as I am, I believe it would be prudent for at least one of us to attend breakfast in the Great Hall."

"I didn't go yesterday," she retorted, remembering that she and Neville had both ordered breakfast in their rooms, laughing about how funny it was.

"You did not?"

"No. Myself and the other returning students have found it great fun to order food through the fireplaces in our rooms."

"Well then," he answered, a raised eyebrow making his face look sinfully wicked. "I suggest that excuse will suffice for one more breakfast, at least."

Hermione smiled, not wanting to go anywhere outside of these chambers.

"Is that an invitation to your shower?" she asked.

"It is, indeed. But before we do anything further, allow me to cast a very important charm that we have both neglected, thus far."

He took his wand from the bedside table and held it to her abdomen, casting an unknown incantation that sent a warm shiver through her belly.

"Did you feel that?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Was that a contraceptive charm?"

"It was. It is effective for twenty-four hours both pre and post intercourse. I do not believe that a baby would be a suitable souvenir of our evening together."

She grinned.

"Thank you. I didn't even think about it."

"Neither did I until this moment, and that is irresponsible. We should have both known better."

"It's ok. You've cast it, now."

Snape rolled off the bed, padding naked across his bedchamber to the adjoining bathroom, and Hermione heard the shower being set to run, and the distinct sound of him using the toilet. He stepped out of the room, wiping his hands on a dark green towel.

"Should I presume that you wish to use the toilet before showering?"

Oh goodness, yes. She slipped past him, closing the bathroom door and heading straight for the loo, noticing a thin trail of blood as she wiped. Hermione shrugged. That was to be expected. Unlocking the door, she opened it a small way before being enticed by the shower, which was large, much bigger than the tiny one she had in her own room. She stepped beneath the heavy jet of water, soaking her hair so that it ran straight down her back, her sore muscles enjoying the pounding of the warm water upon them.

"Starting without me, Miss Granger?"

Snape had entered the room, still stark-naked, and Hermione couldn't help but stare at this very adult male. He was so tall, lean but muscled, pale-skinned but with some dark hair on his chest and forearms. There were several ropey scars on his body, and the faint remains of the Dark Mark on his left arm. After Voldemort's death, it had been reported that the Marks of all his followers had started to fade, the magic imbued in them causing the brands to dissipate into non-being, since they had been made entirely by magic, not by ink.

He approached her, his eyes fixed on her nudity as she presumed hers must be on his. How strange it must be for him, to have a woman in his shower. Putting his hand in the flow to test the temperature, he joined her, pushing his own head under the water and soaking his hair through, just as she had, sighing in pleasure. No doubt she was not the only one who was aching from the exertions of their lovemaking.

"Good?" she asked.

Snape pushed his wet hair out of his eyes, and slunk his arms around her, pulling her body against his own.

"So very good," he agreed, bending down to kiss down the side of her neck. "So good, in fact, that I may never leave this shower cubicle."

"And who would teach Potions if you did that?" she teased, reaching up and folding her arms around his neck so that he had no choice but to kiss her.

"Believe me when I say," he mumbled, in between deep snogs, "that the teaching of Potions is considerably less important to me when I have a witch such as yourself in my shower."

He summoned a bottle of shower gel, squeezing some into both their palms, which they then proceeded to rub over one another, building up a lather. Hermione worked it into his chest, still slightly embarrassed, but her excitement overcoming any nerves, moved her hands lower, pausing at his waist. She looked up at him, and his eyes were sparking with good humour and interest.

"Go on," he urged, softly, guiding her hand down to his penis. "It doesn't bite, I can assure you."

Hermione took a deep breath and began to smooth her hands over his most private area, the unfamiliar feeling of the first dick she'd ever touched slipping through her fingertips with the soft lather. It was bloody huge, even in its flaccid state. How the hell he'd ever got this inside her, she had no idea.

Gaining in confidence, she swirled her hand around it and underneath, cupping his balls and massaging the soap into them, making him lurch forwards, grabbing her around the wrist.

"Fucking hell, Granger," he moaned softly. "You might need to give me a bit longer to recover than that. I'm an old man, compared to you."

"I'm just cleaning you, Sir," she replied, innocently.

"Thank you. I shall now never be able to shower in here again without remembering that," he complained, fixing her with a look of supposed annoyance that she suspected he did not mean.

Snape grabbed the shampoo and squeezed some into his own hand, before passing her the bottle.

"That mane of hair is all yours, for now. No doubt it needs very specific care?"

She nodded, squirting the shampoo onto her own head as he washed his own hair. Hermione noticed that his attentions to his hair were rather cursory, which may explain the slightly greasy state it was always in, and decided that she'd do it properly for him, at some point, should they ever find themselves in this position again.

That thought jolted her reality a little, for they were doing such a fine job of pretending the outside world didn't exist, that to focus on what she actually was doing, which was having a shower with the Potions professor, felt rather uncomfortable.

Hermione hurriedly finished washing and conditioning her hair, for surprisingly, there was a bottle of herby conditioner in his shower too, rinsing out the suds thoroughly and feeling less vulnerable without a white puff of lather sitting on her head like a ridiculous cloud.

As they made their final rinses of their bodies, Snape pulled her to him under the jet of water, snaking his hands down her back, making her shiver despite the warmth of the shower.

"Clean enough?" he asked, his deep voice resonating against her ear.

She nodded, and he turned off the water, summoning two dark green bathrobes from the back of the door and holding one out, warm and ready for her to step straight into. As he was donning his own, Hermione selected a towel from the rack and wrapped it around her head, turban-style, allowing the water from her wet hair to be absorbed.

Walking back into the bedroom together, it seemed that an awkwardness had descended, as they stood in silence for a few seconds, as if neither of them were quite sure what to do next. Despite what had passed between them, drying and redressing oneself was still rather an intimate act, perhaps more so than sex, or showering together, for its sheer mundanity.

"Would you perhaps like to be left alone to dress?" he asked, succinctly appraising the situation.

"Um. Yes, I think so."

Snape gave a single nod to show he understood, then summoned an armful of clothes, and left the room through the other door, the one that led to the living room, where they had snogged and rutted on the sofa the previous evening, closing the door tightly behind him.

Hermione dried herself quickly, finding her jeans on one side of the room, where he'd banished them from her body, and her top and bra on the other, where they'd been slowly removed by him, as they'd stood together. She had to use her wand to find her knickers, Merlin knows how they'd ended up under the armoire, and she blushed, remembering how passionately he had pulled them down … and what he had done to her after he'd removed them.

Stuffing her knickers in her jeans pocket, deciding that they wouldn't be the most fragrant of items to put back on, she dressed, pulling the towel from her head and doing the best she could with a detangling and drying charm, separating the unruly curls with her fingers and attempting to make them lie a little flatter on her scalp.

Realising that she was breathing heavily, she sat down on the edge of Snape's bed, the ornate four-poster where she had allowed him to take her virginity, and been given his, in return.

Had that really happened? The dull ache between her legs suggested that it had. Hermione began to feel scared. What the hell did she think she was doing? There was no way that sleeping with a professor could ever be considered a good idea, and she had done it for what purpose? Simply to make her heart beat a little faster?

Stop panicking, Hermione, she told herself, firmly, getting to her feet and heading for the sitting room, where everything would hopefully become clear.

It didn't.

Professor Snape was waiting by the fireplace, dressed the same as he'd been last night, casual in white shirt and black trousers, nothing else. His hair was wet, pushed back from his face in a style she'd not seen him wear before, since the long black curtains normally hung greasily around his face. He was smoking a Muggle cigarette, which didn't surprise her, for there was nothing about the professor to suggest that he cared much for his own health.

Hermione looked at him, so very familiar, and yet she had never looked at him this way before. He gazed back at her, so many questions in his eyes, such uncertainty along with such … dark fire. He brought the cigarette to his lips and took a deep drag, never taking his eyes from hers, watching her warily as she made her way across the room towards him.

"I suppose I'd better go. Show my face among the others. I'll pretend I slept late," she began, standing as near to him as she dared.

He nodded; but did not say anything. The silence stretched way beyond what felt comfortable, and Hermione wondered what Snape was thinking, wondered where his mind has gone, as his eyes had left her and were now staring at the golden flames that were burning in the grate.

"Sir."

He lifted his gaze, again.

"Sir," she repeated. "Will we … I mean, can we … do this again?"

Suddenly, she dreaded that his answer would be no. For how could she go back to her room, back to her lessons, back to homework, the library, her friends … back to her safe little life, knowing that there was a man who made her heart beat faster, made her stomach turn over with just a raise of his eyebrow, a man who in only one night, had reassured her that she was still fully alive?

"It is forbidden," he replied, simply, taking a final drag of his cigarette, before leaning over and stubbing it out in the small ashtray on the table.

He quickly snaked his arms around her waist with no warning, turning his head to the side to blow the smoke from his nose, away from her, then touching his lips to hers with the lightest kiss, and Hermione smelt the tobacco on his breath, which was strangely compelling, rather than unpleasant.

"But I cannot give you up, witch," he continued. "One night, and already I am addicted to you. I refuse to be in this castle and unable to have you."

Hermione breathed a huge sigh of relief, which Snape noticed, and let out a dark chuckle.

"Relieved, little girl? You shouldn't be. You deserve so much more than a wizard such as myself."

"I'll be the judge of that," she murmured, resting her hands on his shoulders.

"Indeed you will."

The corner of his mouth curved up in his own peculiar approximation of a smile, and he leaned down to kiss her, his surprisingly full lips coaxing hers into a full, open-mouthed snog that enticed her to wrap her arms around his neck; and pressing her hips up against his. The heady smell of the cigarette he had smoked, mixed with the distinctive taste that was all his own, and Hermione sighed in pleasure as he swirled his tongue around hers, kissing her with the intense passion that she was only just learning he had inside.

"You make noises like that, Granger, and I shall not allow you to leave."

"I don't want to."

He slid his hands down to her bum, grabbing her cheeks and pulling her up so that his groin was pressing tight against her mound.

"This is what will happen, girl. You need to show your face around the castle, interact with your friends, and no doubt you have homework to do. I suggest that you take both lunch and dinner in the Great Hall. I have work to do in my private lab, important tasks that cannot be left, and preparation for tomorrow's lessons. Whilst I am in my laboratory, I shall brew a contraceptive potion for you, or should I say, for us. Would you be amenable to taking the monthly dose?"

"Does that mean you want to have sex with me again?"

"What can you feel, girl?" he demanded, rubbing her tighter against what must be a rapidly-swelling erection.

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed. Now, go, before I am unable to let you do so. I shall call upon you via the fireplace this evening, and we shall see if you are still so keen, then."

Snape gave her a hard kiss on the mouth, and released her, passing her the pot of Floo powder that was on his mantel, indicating that she should take a handful.

Once she was back in her own room, Hermione threw off her clothes and dumped them in the laundry basket, grabbing a clean pair of pyjamas and vaulting into the bed. First, sleep, for there hadn't been much of that, last night. The lunch bell would wake her, and then she could seek out her friends.

She closed her eyes, a smile creeping unbidden to her face as her thoughts were filled with the touch of the dark professor who had made her feel again.


	8. Chapter 8

Severus released the girl from where he'd been holding her, rather obscenely, against his crotch, and watched her disappear through the Floo, back to her own chamber. He let out a long, slow breath and pushed his hands through his wet hair, not quite sure what to do next. If he were completely honest, his mind was still filled with the memory of when her hands had finally ventured towards his cock, in the shower. He'd been one nudge away from grabbing her wrist and showing her how to do it properly, thus giving up on anything else he might have needed to do today.

It was Sunday morning. The rest of the school were at breakfast, he was already showered and dressed, with a semi-hard dick and a pathetic longing for the curly-haired witch that had just left his chambers.

Severus curled his lip. How puerile.

His first week back at the school had ended in a way that even he couldn't possibly have predicted. The mind-numbing banality of the week's teaching had somehow turned into the most erotic experience of his life, gifting his virginity to a girl young enough to be his daughter, and a bloody student, to boot.

Had the war not happened, Miss Granger would have been out of Hogwarts and in full-time work now, which would make a relationship between them somewhat more acceptable than it was presently. It would still be shockingly unconventional, but certainly less frowned-upon than a professor fucking one of his pupils.

Lighting another cigarette, purely for the want of something to do with his hands that didn't involve getting his cock out and wanking away what was left of his erection, Severus lay flat on his back on the sofa, and tried very hard to care.

But the inescapable fact was, he really didn't.

The tide of public opinion against him was as diverse as those who either supported or reviled him. People had made up their own minds about whether they considered Severus Snape to be a hero or a villain, light or dark, loyal Order member or Death Eater scum.

What had happened between Granger and himself had been mutual, consensual, and a gentle learning experience for them both. Would anyone else think that, if they were to be discovered, or would the gossips see a sleazy old professor, taking sexual advantage of a young girl under his authority?

And that was the rub, because Severus genuinely didn't care what anyone thought of their actions. He knew the truth, Granger knew the truth, and that really was all that mattered.

He inhaled the sweet smoke deeply, twisting it around his mouth before letting it go, in a long tendril, as he considered further.

But.

There was her education to think of. Clearly, the girl wanted to take her NEWT examinations, or she would not have been back at school, a year behind. Whilst he didn't give a shit whether he got fired or not, he certainly did not want to see Granger expelled in disgrace before she could complete her education, to which she was fully entitled, given what she had sacrificed for the wizarding world.

Therefore, he would be silent, conceal their contact, such as it was, and was certain that she would do the same. There was no indication that the girl was using him for anything more than scratching an itch. It wasn't as if she had asked him for any commitment. He had inadvertently discovered that she was lacking a little pulse-raising excitement, a little danger. He could provide that. He understood that need. He quite liked the idea himself.

In his bed, Granger had been far less irritating than she was in class, he thought, taking another drag of his cigarette. She'd been fucking phenomenal, if he was honest. What a passionate little witch hid behind that prim exterior, that both Potter and Weasley had been too dense to notice and claim for themselves. She was also clever enough to keep a secret.

If he'd had any doubts about returning to school to teach, they had been quelled by the sweetener of having this little secret treat to play with, in his spare time. Severus smirked, as he exhaled his smoke again.

Yes, this arrangement could be mutually satisfying, provided he didn't get emotionally involved, which of course, he wouldn't.

He wasn't that stupid.

-xxx-

Hermione bounded out of bed when the lunch bell sounded, throwing on some clean clothes and underwear, and giving her teeth a cursory clean. She still had the toothbrush in her mouth when she heard knocking at the door of her room. She spelled it open, seeing Susan and Hannah leaning in, asking if she was coming down to lunch. They eyed her teeth-cleaning with amusement.

"Had a lie-in, Hermione?" Susan teased, smiling.

"You could say that. Breakfast in bed, then back to sleep," she fibbed, through a mouthful of toothpaste.

"So did we," admitted Hannah. "I think that Ernie was the only one of us at breakfast this morning, apart from the Ravenclaws. Apparently, none of the Slytherins made it either, and no one's even seen Neville yet, today."

Hermione rinsed her mouth and towelled off the drips, walking towards her new friends and heading out of the room with them, towards the Great Hall where Sunday lunch was being served.

"I can see that Floo ordering system coming in dangerously useful, especially at breakfast times," she warned. "No doubt we'll be accused of abusing it and it'll be stopped, but honestly, freshly cooked food to your bedside, who could ask for more?"

Hermione was laying it on a bit thick, but neither of the Hufflepuffs seemed to notice, and it gave her a perfect, ready-made excuse for not emerging from her room in the mornings. Hopefully, there would be more days like today, where she awoke in Professor Snape's bed.

Even the thought of it made her face hot, and she could feel herself blushing around the neckline of her t-shirt, another Gryffindor Quidditch souvenir purloined from either Harry or Ron. In fact, this one might have even been Ginny's, she realised, as they entered the Great Hall and she saw her younger friend's eyebrows shoot up at the sight of her.

"Is that mine, Hermione Granger?" she accused, waving her fork around, for she was already well into her plate of lunch, that girl ate like a Weasley and no mistake.

"I think your mum must have mixed up some of our clothes in the last lot of laundry," she shrugged, innocently.

"For a girl who hates Quidditch, you have awful lot of team tops."

"I know," Hermione admitted, holding up her hands. "Do you want it back? I can take it off now?"

She pretended to be about to lift the hem of the t-shirt, to the catcalls of the seventh-year Gryffindor boys, so loud that they drew such so much attention from the rest of the hall that Hermione quickly aborted the rest of the prank, such as it was, and sat down, cheeks flaming.

"Never try that around a load of horny Quidditch players, Granger," Ginny teased, elbowing her in the ribs as she sat down. "They'll have you stripped down before you can find your broomstick, if you tease them."

"That's why you like to play, is it, Gin?"

"Well, of course," the redhead smirked, completely confident and unabashed. "That, and the fact the team would lose without me, now that Harry's gone."

"What about your brother?" interjected Neville, who had appeared from nowhere and sat opposite them, a smear of soil round his cheek and a tangle of roots in his hair suggesting that he'd been in the greenhouses all morning.

Ginny scoffed.

"Like Ron ever made any difference to the team. Fucking liability, he was."

She laughed, cruelly, in the way only a sister could ever get away with. Conversation turned to the Quidditch pitch, and the team that Ginny, as the new Gryffindor captain, was putting together for the new season. Even Neville got drawn into the enthusiasm, and Hermione felt her mind leave the table, with that familiar drift, the one that took her out of herself, took her away from the school that she was part of, but far too old for.

Her mind began to wander. Had it really only been just over year ago since Harry was the team captain himself, and stressing about having his best mate on the team? So much had happened since then, and that was the understatement of the century.

All over.

It was all over.

And now they were expected to settle back down like good little witches and wizards, as if nothing had ever happened? As if their friends hadn't lost their lives? As if Voldemort never existed? Fat chance. All their lives were irrevocably changed.

Unbidden, her eyes flicked up to the top table. He was not there. She hadn't really expected him to be, for hadn't he told her he was working in his private lab? But nonetheless, Hermione felt a brief stab of disappointment, quickly berating herself for being so stupid. Seven years she'd dreaded the sight of the black-clad wizard at the staff table, and now overnight she was yearning for his presence? Come on.

She'd always prided herself on her impeccable logic, so as she ate her roast chicken, she attempted to think over the situation logically. Sexual feelings were powerful, and therefore it was only natural that if one had successful sex, one would want more, and seek out the person that the sex had been had with, and then …

Oh, shut up, Hermione. 

Who was she trying to convince? Herself? The facts were simple, she and Professor Snape had discovered an unexpected but intense sexual chemistry between them, and she wanted more. A small lurch in the pit of her stomach at the mere thought of his touch, confirmed her assessment. Suspecting she was smirking to herself, Hermione diverted her attention to the remainder of her lunch.

Roast chicken. Yum …

-xxx-

Severus moved smoothly around the laboratory, keeping a close eye on all the potions he had brewing, for they were all at different stages. In the row of tiny test cauldrons were the variants of the Forgetfulness Potion that he was trialling. There had been so much talk of people suffering degrees of mental trauma, that Severus had wondered if a specified version of the potion was possible to brew. This could ease symptoms where witches and wizards had experienced events so damaging that Obliviating their memories could prove fatal. A slow-acting, gradual Forgetfulness Potion, however, directed to the cause of their distress might just work. That was his theory, anyway. There was a long way to go before it was ready for human testing.

All around him were small piles of the base ingredients; meticulously chopped valerian sprigs and crushed mistletoe berries, a big jar of the standard ingredient, which was added to the general mix of most potions, and stoppered carefully; a bottle of Lethe river water, which contained the magical properties that enabled the forgetting of things.

He would never have such an ingredient out in his classroom, Why, if that bottle were to drop and be smashed, apart from wasting hundreds of Galleons, the dose would be enough to wipe the memories of an entire class, should they be stupid enough to touch it. Hence, he much preferred the quiet and safe solitude of his lab.

Severus also had a large cauldron of basic Pepper-Up brewing for the infirmary, and another test cauldron of an advanced form of Skele-Gro that he was experimenting with, that had the same bone-regrowing properties as the original potion, but without the rather unpleasant side effects of extreme pain as one's bones were mending. That one was almost ready to be used in the infirmary, after a few more test brews and observations.

In the corner, a small copper cauldron containing nettle roots, crocodile skin, and a sharp cinnamon spice, along with his own infused magic, bubbled with the contraceptive potion that he was brewing for Miss Granger. Even thinking that sentence brought a smirk to his life, and a stab to his heart, which may have been excitement, or possibly panic, Severus wasn't quite sure.

Contraception was not widely practised in the wizarding world, you were either bloody careful or you had your children young, and many girls, over the years, had left Hogwarts before their NEWT exams, already pregnant and married off. The contraceptive charm was a favourite amongst young, unmarried witches and wizards, but the potion offered a far more complete solution, with the additional benefit of not having to remember to cast the charm every time you had sex. As he and Granger had proved earlier, remembering charms whilst in the throws of great passion was not easy.

His intense concentration meant that the time sped by, and Severus was soon being summoned to dinner by an earnest little house-elf. He should go. He had not taken any meals in the Great Hall all weekend, and he supposed that Minerva might decide to have something to say about that, should he not show his face at least once. Decanting the potions that were complete, and putting the longer brews under a stasis charm, Severus washed his hands and headed for the Great Hall, entering via the teachers' door by the top table.

As if they had been pulled by a magnet, his eyes swung to the far end of the Gryffindor table, to ascertain the presence of one particular lion. Noting the back of her curly head, facing away from him and deep in conversation with Longbottom and the Weasley girl, he inwardly berated himself for being so bloody stupid.

Nothing would give them away faster than longing looks across the Great Hall. He had never before looked at the girl whilst she ate, so why should he start now? He began to force a stilted conversation with the new Professor Masters, seated to his right, and whilst she was initially frosty, probably since he'd ignored her for the past week, the similarly-aged witch was soon returning his questions about her Defence classes with succinct and rather interesting answers. It was almost something approximating a sensible conversation between work colleagues.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Minerva grinning merrily at him, looking more like Albus Dumbledore than the man himself, as her eyes glinted in pleasure at the sight of the two Defence professors, current and former, conversing like adults at the dinner table.

Don't you even think about meddling, Severus thought, trying to convey his disdain for her approval through his death stare alone. The absolute last thing he needed would be Minerva McGonagall deciding that he and Andrea Masters would make a 'fine pair', or other such twaddle.

-xxx-

Hermione tried not to look at the staff table, she really did. But it was all too easy when conversation was as raucous as it always was on the spirited Gryffindor table. No one noticed if she briefly looked around the hall, of course they didn't. Her heart had nearly leapt into her mouth when she'd seen the dark cloud arrive through the teachers' door, and she'd forced herself to focus on her friends, and her supper.

It had been a long afternoon, longer than she could ever remember. She'd taken her homework and gone to the library, thinking that the environment would be more conducive to study than her bedroom, and found herself sitting with Draco Malfoy, of all people.

That had not been intentional. Hermione had commandeered most of her favourite table, at the back of the library by the tall window, her books, quills and parchments spread out in such a fashion so as to discourage anyone from sitting with her.

"Going to take up that entire table, Granger?"

She'd looked up, seeing his blond hair and entitled, insouciant expression looking down at her.

"I was planning to, yes," she'd retorted, too loudly, as she was sssh'ed by Madam Pince, so she'd had to grudgingly made a space for him, crossly moving a few books to create some surface room.

"Well, thank you," he'd hissed, sarcastically, folding his long limbs into the seat and getting out his own books.

"Why do you have to sit right here?" she whispered. "There's a whole library of people to annoy, Malfoy."

"And today I chose you, Granger. Consider yourself privileged."

She'd made a face, feeling about thirteen again. How could he still have this effect on her? If she could punch him in the face, she would, and he hadn't even really done anything apart from ask to sit with her. Just him breathing annoyed her.

"I want to sit near the Transfiguration books, if you must know," he added, flipping open his notebook and running his finger down what appeared to be a list of book titles.

"Oh, I've got that one!" she cried, shushing herself before she could earn Madam Pince's ire again, and handing it over. "We must be working on the same essay, for Professor Briner?"

Malfoy seemed as surprised as she was by her benevolent change of attitude. Why had she said that? Honestly, show Hermione Granger a book list, and she was anybody's.

"Yes," he replied, taking the book from her uncertainly. "I'll give this first one a good bash, then we'll see if our new Transfiguration professor grades on written or oral work … if you know what I mean?"

"What are you saying, Malfoy?"

She tried to appear disinterested, but obviously failed miserably, as he leaned into her, conspiratorially.

"You don't think Briner is deciding which of you girls to have first, like a kid on their first trip to Honeydukes?"

"No, I don't! That's a disgusting thing to say."

Privately, she thought Draco had it spot on. There was something Hermione didn't trust about Professor Briner, and if others could see it too …

"You say disgusting, I say true. Any professor under the age of sixty is always looking for it, mark my words, Granger. He'll have one of you before the term is out, you wait and see."

"Well it won't be me," she hissed, firmly, picking her quill back up and scratching furiously at her essay.

"If I'm lucky, it might be me. Then it's goodbye homework."

Harry or Ron would have seen Hermione's anger, and backed right off, but Draco Malfoy had no such knowledge, or common sense. What he did have though, was a fearlessly wicked sense of humour, and she snorted, letting out a most surprised laugh at his one-liner, looking up to see a smug, satisfied look on his face.

They both heard Madam Pince's heavy footfall towards them, and turned their faces towards their work, trying to look innocent.

"Mr Malfoy. Miss Granger. If the pair of you cannot abide by the rules of the library, I shall be forced to expel you from it!"

They both mumbled their apologies, and for a few minutes, all that could be heard was the sound of the two of them writing, and the pages turning in their textbooks.

Hermione was surprised by a piece of parchment, thrust quickly across the table between them, on top of her work. She chanced a look up, to see Draco innocently writing, as if it hadn't come from him.

Unfolding the piece of paper, she saw an extremely unflattering moving drawing of Madam Pince, waving her hands about, shouting "I shall be forced to expel you from it!" in a speech bubble, and two stick people, presumably meant to be the two of them, looking miserable.

She suffocated the laugh that was threatening to escape her mouth; and kicked his shin under the table. He looked up, mouthing "What?" and then smiled, a genuine, full smile, the likes of which she had never seen from him before. It was almost disturbing.

They'd finished in the library at the same time, or rather, Malfoy had started to pack up at the same as she had, and therefore it seemed churlish not to walk back to the guest corridor together.

"So, how are you finding the eighth year?" he'd asked, once they had escaped the confines of the library.

"Conversation, Malfoy? I'm not sure that's happened before."

"Things are different, Granger."

"True. I see you with Millicent a lot?" she asked, trying to keep a dialogue flowing as they walked through the hallways.

"She's alright. About as thick as Crabbe and Goyle were, but she's harmless. Her parents are both in Azkaban, same as mine," he said, bluntly. "We find ourselves with a lot in common."

"I can't say I'm sorry to hear that, Draco," she replied, thinking of how both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had watched her tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange in their own home.

"You don't have to. I know. I know what happened."

"You did your best. You know, not identifying us."

"It was a bit late to realise I was on the wrong side. Not that I had a choice."

"Your life is your own now. Fresh start, and everything. Are you still with Pansy?"

"Are you with Weasley?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"Habits, Granger. Old habits," he replied, cryptically. "Sometimes you stay with someone out of habit, not because its what you want, or the best thing for you, but because it's easy."

They'd reached their doors at that point, for their chambers were directly opposite one another, and nodded their goodbyes, both seeming to acknowledge that they didn't normally chat together. And that had been that.

Hermione had just had time to plait her hair back when the dinner bell sounded, and when she'd walked back into the hallway, there was no sign of Malfoy, only Neville, coming to call on her to go down to supper with him.

As she ate, not really hungry, she wondered what time Professor Snape would be free. Merlin, what if he changed his mind, and decided that he didn't want to see her, after all? That thought made her feel quite sick, since the whole day had been a kind of cruel waiting game, wanting to be back in his chambers, in his arms.

-xxx-

It was late, very late, when he finally returned to his chambers. Andrea Masters had kept him talking until almost the last student had left, and he'd already sent a dislodging hex to Minerva's hat as she winked at him behind Professor Masters' back as she'd left the table, leaving the two of them talking.

"No rush, Severus, Andrea!" she'd called. "I'm sure you must have much to say to one another, about Defence classes, of course."

He'd fucking hex her head off next time, not just her hat. Interfering bloody woman. A suggestion that he might be friends with the new professor was certainly not what he needed, not now, not ever.

After finishing his marking in the classroom, ensuring the weeks lesson plans were prepared, the students' store cupboard stocked, and made an emergency trip to the Slytherin common room where a fight had been breaking out, it was now well after curfew.

Throwing off his outer clothing, he chanced a Floo call to Granger's room. From the coals, he could see that all was dark, apart from the low burn that his head was currently sitting in. The connection was open, however, so he opted to step through.

She was in bed, laying on her back with the covers pulled back, for it was a warm, early-September night, and wearing a bloody Gryffindor Quidditch t-shirt, but that wasn't what caught his attention. No, it was the tiny shorts she was wearing with them, the smallest fucking item of clothing he'd ever seen. He could see every dip and curve of her mound, as the shorts clung to her body, and felt a pulse of arousal in his groin.

No, he could not wake her and invite her to touch his cock, as much as he'd have liked to. He had some fucking manners. He would have to wait. Wait for another opportunity to see if she still wanted him.

Severus stared at her for a while longer, unsure if he was waiting for her to wake up, or if he just enjoyed gazing upon this girl who, for some odd reason, seemed to be his.

As he turned quietly towards the fire, he saw a small vase of red flowers on her desk and was struck with an idea. Before he could think too deeply about the good sense of what he was about to do, he took out the largest bloom, transforming the crimson petals completely into the darkest black, and laid it on her bedside table, so that she would see it, when she woke in the morning.

A calling card, of sorts. 

Once he was back in his own chambers, the Floo connection sealed and the last cigarette of the day at his lips, he suspected that the floral declaration had been his second mistake.


	9. Chapter 9

The little black flower had been the only thing that had seen Hermione through the long day ahead. She'd been bereft, the night before, when Snape had not appeared, much to her own disgust, and had finally accepted he must have had somewhere else he was obliged to be shortly before midnight, and had changed for bed, falling into deep sleep through a combination of annoyance and tiredness.

She'd awoken again in the small hours, disorientated and thirsty, and had seen the bloom on her bedside table when she'd returned to bed from the bathroom, where she'd drawn a glass of water from her tap. Casting a small Lumos, Hermione had delicately picked up the black flower, the colour so unusual, recognising it immediately as one from the vase that had been placed on her desk, all the guest rooms had fresh flowers weekly, apparently.

Had Professor Snape been in here? He must have. Who else would come into her room at night, conjure one of her flowers black and place it next to her bed, for her to find? She found the thought somewhat comforting, although wished that he'd woken her. There would have been enough room here, in her bed, for them both.

He must have become involved in another task, for he was working as a live-in professor, after all. She'd lose count if she tried to number the times that McGonagall had been summoned to Gryffindor Tower in the middle of night for some emergency or another, usually involving Harry. As Head of House for Slytherin, it was highly likely, certain even, that Snape would have the same responsibilities for his own house.

Settling back down to sleep, she pulled the covers up and comforted herself with thoughts of the dark wizard that she was now finding so very interesting and attractive, standing over her bed, watching her slumber. Her dreams took her further into her erotic and creative reverie, if the state of her pyjama shorts were anything to go by, when she awoke the following morning.

The new day, thus far, had been interminable.

Walking into the Great Hall for breakfast to see the subject of her filthy dreams sitting as he always did at the staff table, with a sour look on his face and apparently completely oblivious to her presence, had started things off badly; the school toast had never tasted so much like cardboard as it had that day, for she could barely swallow.

Berating herself for being so pathetic, Hermione had resolved to concentrate fully on her morning lessons, ignoring the double Potions that was shining like a beacon on her timetable for the final class of the day. Then, she had mucked up two translations in Ancient Runes, prompting Professor Babbling to ask her prized student if she needed to visit Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing, such was the strangeness of such an occurrence.

The Charms lesson had actually been fun, and she'd partnered with Neville for the practical, whose spellwork was so much better than it used to be. His grandmother had bought him a new, cherry wood, wand two years ago, after he'd broken his father's during the battle they'd fought at the Department of Mysteries, and since he was now using a wand that had chosen him, he was much more skilled, and confident in his abilities. Neville was truly blossoming, and told Hermione whilst they were practising, that Professor Sprout had offered him an apprenticeship under her, in Herbology, to run concurrent to his NEWT courses, since he was only taking three. Hermione had been genuinely delighted for him.

Malfoy arrived early at Transfiguration class; and had swept into the seat next to her before she could protest.

"Ginny normally sits there," Hermione objected.

"Looks like Weasley will have to find a new friend, today, Granger. I've got something to show you. Watch him. Watch how he greets the students as they enter, watch his ratty little eyes follow their arses as they sit down," Draco whispered, indicating that Hermione should keep her eye on Professor Briner.

Despite not wanting to collude with Malfoy, she couldn't deny that she was at least horribly intrigued, and together they surreptitiously observed the new professor, Draco keeping up a commentary that was worthy of a spot behind the Quidditch loudspeaker at the next game.

"Not sitting with the Gryffindors, Miss Granger?" Professor Briner had asked her, as he'd spotted Draco talking quietly to her, his blond head leaned in towards hers.

"Not today, Sir. I think it's good to extend one's friendships beyond one's own house," she'd replied, smiling sweetly, prompting a limp simper of agreement from the new teacher, in return.

"Sleazy cunt," Draco had hissed. "That's you off his list, I reckon. He won't chance tussling with a snake. I've just saved your arse, Granger."

"Such confidence, Malfoy."

Briner accosted Ginny Weasley when she entered, making a big issue out of the fact that Hermione and Draco were sitting together, guiding Ginny unnecessarily to an empty seat near the front. The redhead had looked at the professor as if he were a slightly annoying Flobberworm that had stuck itself to her shoe, indicating that she was quite capable of finding her own seat, and wasn't bothered about who she sat next to, taking a chair next to her old boyfriend, Ravenclaw Michael Corner, pointedly.

"He'll stay away from her now, too. Doesn't want one that's too feisty, or one that talks back."

"Are you really that suspicious about him?"

"Definitely. Remember, you're talking to the son of Lucius Malfoy. What my father didn't know about sleaze, isn't worth knowing."

A slightly pained expression passed over his thin face as he tried to pass off his comment as amusing.

"I'm sorry, Draco. Really."

Hermione lightly touched his arm, and gave it a squeeze of support and reassurance, and the small smile he gave her was something approaching gratitude.

"Now, now," chided Professor Briner. "Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy, if you cannot be trusted to sit together without touching, I shall have to separate the pair of you! Relationships are conducted outside of my classroom, please."

Everyone swivelled round to look at them, which had clearly been Briner's intention, to embarrass them.

"Outside the classroom, Sir?" Draco replied, belligerently. "I'll remember that. Granger, keep your hands to yourself, in future."

There were some snorts of laughter, and even though it was quite funny, Hermione still blushed, folding her arms tightly on her side of the desk.

Briner called the class to order, asking Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott to give out the birdcages they were going to be using that lesson, as they continued their work on animal transfigurations, specifically, the bird-conjuring charm. If they were successful, they were going to need the cages.

Draco nudged her as Professor Briner handed the cages to the two girls to distribute, giving overly-effusive thanks and watching them as they turned away from him and moved down the aisles between the desks.

"There you go," Draco murmured, trying not to move his lips. "Hufflepuffs. Soft and amenable, unlikely to answer back, not clever enough to see beyond his favouritism, and likely to be flattered by his attention."

"Don't be disgusting."

"I reckon he'll go for Abbott. She is looking fucking hot as hell, these days."

"You are ridiculous," she shot back, before looking up to see Briner looking angrily in their direction.

"Five points each from Slytherin and Gryffindor. This is your last warning, Malfoy, and Miss Granger. I will have silence in my classroom whilst I am teaching."

Not wanting to lose any more points, Hermione jabbed Draco in the thigh with the sharp point of her quill, and resolutely faced the front for the duration of the lesson, paying so much attention that even she could see how much Briner's gaze fell to Susan and Hannah.

Could Malfoy's unscientific presumptions possibly be right?

-xxx-

"It appears we have a little inter-house romance blossoming, that is rather a surprise."

Severus was only half-listening to the dreary lunchtime babble in the staff room, taking his plate by the window as he always did, a tall mug of hot, black coffee stirring itself as he ate a rather nice thick ham and mustard sandwich.

"Do tell," came the eager voice of Sybill Trelawney. "I wonder if it is a match that I have foretold?"

"This one seems unlikely," teased Richard Briner, "for it is between a Slytherin and a Gryffindor. Did you not tell me that those two houses were the most sworn of enemies?"

"Generally, yes, Richard, but I would wager that things are different between them, after the war," cut in Minerva, taking a snifter of scotch from a tiny flask that she always had secreted beneath her robes. "Do you agree, Severus?"

Don't drag me into this, he thought. Fuck off and leave me to my sandwich.

"I have no opinion, Minerva. We reside in a hothouse of teenage hormones. I doubt it matters to the randy little shits which house colours their partner wears."

"You are so pleasant as always, Severus," the Headmistress grimaced, pursing her lips and shaking her head at him. "So, tell us, Richard, whom should we be looking out for on our night patrols, between the Slytherin dungeons and Gryffindor tower?"

"Well, that is the snag, Minerva, for these two are a lot closer than we would wish; and are resident on the same corridor. Two of the returning eighth-years, Malfoy and Granger."

"Hermione Granger? With a Malfoy? Och, you must be mistaken, Richard. Those two would never be a match. There is too much bad blood between them."

Interest piqued at the mention of his young lover's name, Severus looked up through a curtain of black hair, untrusting eyes fixed on the new professor, who appeared to have commanded the attention of the entire staff room with his pronouncement.

What had Granger been doing to make a teacher suspect that she was having a torrid affair with that little shit, Draco Malfoy, of all people?

Briner smirked, a slow, unpleasant sneer that spread across his face, as though he were a circling cat, about to devour a particularly tasty mouse.

"It didn't seem that way to me, Headmistress. They were given a warning for pawing one another at the start of my Transfiguration lesson, and I was eventually forced to take points when they did not desist."

A few professors exclaimed their surprise; and noted that they had not noticed any such behaviour between Granger and Malfoy in their own classes.

"Miss Granger is generally with Mr Longbottom," Filius Flitwick piped up. "If I were to suspect a relationship, it would be between the two of them, not with Mr Malfoy."

"I agree," added Pomona Sprout. "Neville Longbottom is quite taken with the girl, and who wouldn't be? Highly intelligent, growing into a rather beautiful young woman, and a war hero on top of that."

Severus pulled at his collar, loosening his cravat, which was starting to feel too tight around the irritated scar tissue on his neck. If this wet-behind-the-ears professor kept spouting such utter fucking rubbish, he'd be forced to hex his bollocks off, and Severus suspected that might be frowned upon, in the staff room.

"I suggest," he drawled, and as he rarely spoke, everyone turned to listen to him, "that we stop speculating on the romantic affairs of teenagers. If their relationship presents a problem as regards their accommodation, then that is the responsibility of the staff member on night patrol."

Briner looked as if he was sucking on a particularly bitter piece of lemon, his lips pursed in a formidable impression of Mrs Norris' puckered arsehole.

"Furthermore, let us also remember that the so-called 'eighth-year' students are all at least a year past majority, some nearly two years. They are all adults."

Not waiting for a response, Severus picked up his newspaper and shook it meaningfully, disappearing behind it with his mug of coffee, ignoring the mutters of agreement he had elicited. Let's hope they all remembered his words if he and Granger ever got caught.

-xxx-

Ginny and Hermione walked down to Potions together, for they'd spent the lunch break outside in the fine September sunshine, and Ginny had warned Hermione that she wasn't going to allow Malfoy another chance to pinch the seat next to her. Neville didn't take Potions, much to his relief, for Snape still terrified him, so it was nice to have Ginny to sit with. Hannah and Susan were lovely, but they stayed together as if a sticking charm had been cast between them, and Hermione had no wish to be the third wheel in a friendship. It might have worked for Harry, Ron and herself, but they were … special, she thought, smiling at the thought of her best friends and how much fun they'd had together at school, despite the ever-present danger.

Ernie MacMillan was aligning himself nicely with the returning Ravenclaws, so much so that Hermione suspected that his portentous manner indicated that Ernie fancied that he should have been sorted blue, not yellow.

Ginny was her only real link with the actual seventh-years, apart from Luna, who was not in any of her classes. They entered the dungeon classroom, and Hermione's stomach lurched as she saw Professor Snape at his desk, writing on a parchment and paying no attention to the entering students as they filed in and took their seats.

Choosing a double workbench about half way down the classroom, by the side wall, Ginny pulled Hermione on to the stool next to her.

"Easy, Weasley. She's all yours for this lesson. Relax."

"Oh, do shut up, Malfoy," Ginny retorted.

"I mean it. I still have a hole in my leg from Granger's vicious quill."

"Settle down."

Snape's voice carried across the Potions classroom not with volume, but with impact.

"Find a seat, Mr Malfoy," he ordered, coldly.

Draco did not reply; but slunk across the room and plonked himself down next to Pansy Parkinson, who looked rather more pleased than he did to be sitting together.

"Now then," Snape began, rising from his desk, and as he did so, their eyes met for the first time since she'd left his chambers on Sunday morning.

It was only a split-second, as his piercing black eyes were sweeping the room to ensure he held every student's attention, but it was enough to jolt Hermione awake, and she felt her synapses springing alert and a deliciously cold shiver begin to run down her spine. There was no point in trying to deny her desire for him, not that she was, for her body would likely betray her every time. The challenge now, would be to complete the double Potions lesson without straddling him in his chair. Fuck.

"Since you are now all deemed competent brewers, today we shall be starting the Wiggenweld potion," he advised them, his voice quiet and distinct. "This is an important brew to have in your skill set, since it can cure minor curse damage, and awaken a person from a magically-induced sleep, such as a person under the effects of a Draught of Living Death."

Hermione remembered that one, only too well. The first potion upon which Harry had taken instruction from Snape's schoolboy copy of Advanced Potion Making, and won himself a vial of Felix Felicis, and the undying adoration of Professor Slughorn.

"The brewing instructions," he announced, tapping the board with his wand, "are here. There are a great many ingredients for this particular brew. Do not attempt to take everything from the storeroom at once. Collect a few items, and then return later in your brewing to collect more. I suggest that for this first brew, you work in pairs, so that you may assist one another. Begin."

He returned to his desk with a swirl of black robes, offering no other advice or assistance. Ginny immediately headed to the storeroom, indicating that she would collect the Horklump juice, Flobberworm mucus and Chizpurfle fangs, and that Hermione should set up their cauldron and equipment at their brewing station.

Taking out their glass stirring rods, flatboards and silver knives, Hermione suspected that Professor Snape was looking at her, through his long hair, which was falling forwards from his shoulders. An hour and a half to go. Ninety minutes of being in the same room with him and not being able to touch him, and Merlin, she wanted to, so desperately.

The classroom was noisier than a brewing session usually was, due to the number of students heading back and forth to the storeroom to collect ingredients from the long list. The sound of a loud scuffle breaking out in the store cupboard had Professor Snape stalking there from his desk, and she couldn't resist.

Offering to collect their next ingredients of the honeywater and lionfish spines, Hermione headed for the small room, which was located at the front of the classroom, leaving Ginny stirring their attempts at the Wiggenweld, which was gurgling ominously, but seemed to be behaving itself, thus far.

There was a mess of ingredients on the main bench as she entered the storeroom, and Snape was lecturing two students on the importance of not behaving like dunderheads in a place where volatile ingredients were stored. Hermione squeezed past all three of them; and began to count out ten lionfish spines onto her flatboard, on the back bench.

She heard Snape tell the two seventh-years to get out, and his wand began to swish as he tidied up the mess they had made. As she took her board and passed him, she felt a hand on her arse, clutching one of her bum cheeks with a desperate squeeze. Hermione spun around and faced him, and when she saw the fire in his eyes, that was burning a volcanic black, it made her want to slam the door shut and wrap herself around him, right then and there.

Not trusting herself to say a word, she left the storeroom immediately, only realising when she returned to Ginny, that she'd forgotten the honeywater. Shit. Ginny had rolled her eyes and offered to get it, thankfully. Hermione stirred the potion, trying to control her mad breathing, and quieten the roar of desire that seemed to be blocking her ears to all other sound.

Professor Snape left the store cupboard when Ginny entered it, and returned to his desk, only looking up when summoned by a student with a question, and questions were dealt with in his usual abrupt, obnoxious manner.

When the bell sounded, at the end of what had been the longest, most tense Potions class in history, Snape dismissed the class, ordering them to ensure that they had all their belongings with them, and left their workbenches clean and tidy. Her and Ginny's was immaculate, so Hermione had no reason to linger, but Merlin, she wanted to.

"Miss Granger."

She looked up.

"A word before you leave, please. And bring your notes from this lesson with you."

Hermione dug her Potions notebook from her bookbag and headed towards the front of the classroom, as the others were leaving.

"I'll wait for you outside, Hermione," Ginny said.

"That will not be necessary, Miss Weasley. Please return to your common room. Miss Granger's notes are liable to be the only ones of sufficient quality for my purposes."

Ginny's eyes widened in surprise at Snape's blatant praise of Hermione's work, but opted not to push the matter further, muttering that she would see Hermione at dinner, and Good Luck, under her breath.

They were alone.

Hermione stood next to Professor Snape's desk, her bag on the surface with her notebook on top, open at the page containing today's notes on the Wiggenweld potion. Remaining seated, he took his wand and aimed it at the door, slamming it shut and sending the heavy iron bolt across the wood, to secure it.

"Do you want to see my notes, Sir?"

His eyes met hers, still blazing black, as they'd done in the store cupboard.

"No."

"Is there anything else you wish to see?"

Snape hitched a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his wide nostrils.

"Come here, girl," he instructed, his voice low and quiet.

Hermione walked around to his side of the desk, and gasped as he immediately pulled her into his lap without warning, her legs to one side of his, guiding her head down to his shoulder and closing the gap with his own, seizing her mouth with his lips and beginning a desperate, devastating kiss, as he held her tightly around her back.

She kissed him back just as hard, sliding her arm around his neck to keep him close as he pushed his tongue between her lips, and onwards, deep into her mouth.

"I did not stay away last night of my own volition," he explained, as he took a break from their kiss, stroking the side of her face.

"I hoped not," she answered. "And then I woke up in the night and saw the flower, and I knew that you had been there."

He made a gruff, throaty kind of noise, as if he was embarrassed to have been caught making such a gesture, so she tried to reassure him.

"I really liked it. I've put it back in the vase. It looks rather beautiful among the red ones."

"Oh, Merlin, girl," he breathed, pushing his hand to the back of her head and pulling her in again for more kissing.

Hermione gave herself over to his attentions, for every second without him had been like an hour. She needed his touch, and her soul needed him.

-xxx-

It was a novel experience to have a student on his lap with his tongue down her throat, as he sat in his own chair, behind his own desk in the dungeon classroom where he'd taught for so long. His cock pulsed beneath her with every sweep of his tongue, and Severus slid his hand down the girl's back, across her arse that he'd taken such a tempting handful of, in the store cupboard, down her leg and under her skirt before he could stop himself. Not that he would have.

Severus ran his hand up her thigh, easing her leg from his lap so that he could spread her, and his fingers could reach between her legs, for he was desperate to know if her knickers were damp. His dreams had been filled with thoughts of Hermione Granger's wet cunt, and he needed to touch it, to reassure himself that their encounter had been real.

Stroking one finger down the centre of her knickers, he rubbed against her vaginal opening, feeling the fluid that she was leaking seep through the thin material and dampen his fingertip.

Granger moaned into his mouth; and moved her hips against his touch. He deepened his kiss, swallowing her noises of pleasure and swiping his tongue roughly around her mouth as he burrowed under the seat of her underwear, palm upwards, pushing his finger into her wet hole and sinking it as deep as he could reach.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, as he crooked the tip of his finger inside her, touching her deeply.

"Let me make you come, girl," he begged, sliding his thumb through her folds to seek out her clitoris. "I want you to come, here in my classroom, on my lap."

She jumped as he found her sensitive bud, and Severus rolled her clit around, under his thumb, feeling her open her thighs wider to accommodate him.

"Yesss," she breathed, holding his face and kissing his cheek, trailing her tongue over his late afternoon stubble. "Yes, please."

Finding that they were now impeding his progress, Severus vanished her knickers, and she was bared to the invading touch of his hand. He added a second finger to the first; and felt the tight clamp of her vaginal walls pressing against them. He kept them pressed firmly inside her, flickering his thumb faster upon her clitoris, not allowing the jumpy nub to escape from any of his insistent movements.

Granger was beginning to writhe on his lap, steadying herself with one foot on the floor, so he stopped kissed her, and secured her head on his shoulder, placing his lips next to her ear so that he could goad her with his voice, and push her further.

"Were you thinking of this whilst you sat in my class?" he asked, stroking her clit firmly upwards. "Did you want my hands in your wet cunt, whilst you took instruction from me?"

"Oh fuck, yes … Yes, sir, I did, oh god …"

"I wanted to. I wanted to lay you out on your desk. I would have fucked you in front of everyone, little girl. I wanted everyone to see how much you desire me."

Severus could actually feel her increased arousal at his words. Her little hole was leaking its sweet-smelling, silky fluid and it was dripping down his invading fingers. Her breathing was hard and laboured, as if she kept holding her breath, then letting it go in an urgent pant.

"Every class you have with me, I will feel the same. I will be teaching you Potions, but in my head, I will have my fingers on your hungry little clit, which is trembling under my touch, right now, wanting to shiver to its climax."

"Gods, Sir!"

She arched her hips upwards, her cunt fully open to his hand, and he pulled his fingers out of her and took hold of her clitoris, urgently frigging hard against it, as she finally squeezed out her orgasm, letting out a loud scream of release as her hips thrust through the repeated pulses of her climax. He tickled on top of, and all around her clit with his fingertips as she came down from her peak, occasionally making her gasp if he caught an over-sensitive part.

"Fucking hell, Granger. You come like a damn fucking express train, witch. I hope you're going to let me inside that juicy cunt, now?"

"In the classroom?"

She looked up at him, her eyes questioning and innocent. He fucking loved it.

"Yes. Right here."

He reached out a hand for his wand; and used it to clear his desk. You had to love magic, at a time like this. A second spell cast a contraceptive charm upon her abdomen, for he had not yet given her the potion he'd brewed, and he stood up whilst holding her, lifting her bodily onto the top of his desk. She sat there, and he tasted her lips, pulling her tongue out of her mouth with his gently sucking kiss, whilst opening the front of his trousers and dragging his solid hard erection out and into the palm of his hand, giving it a few preliminary tugs. It did not need any further encouragement.

"Lay down, girl. Let me show you what was on my mind during the lesson, this afternoon. And it certainly was not the fucking Wiggenweld potion."

As Granger lay down, Severus pushed her school skirt up around her thighs, leaving her shoes and socks on, leaving everything on, actually, since he'd vanished her knickers, there was nothing else that urgently needed removal. Fuck knows where they had gone.

Flipping the grey uniform skirt over and tucking it into its own waistband, so that he had a good view of her whole pussy, Severus lifted her legs and opened them wide, holding them on his hips and guiding his aching cock to her wet opening, thinking that he could quite easily spunk at the first touch of her.

Managing to control himself, he pushed his length inside her, his head spinning with her warmth and tightness, yet again. If he'd known how fucking amazing sex with a witch would feel, he doubted he'd have been satisfied with celibacy all these years.

"I've thought about you fucking me since yesterday morning, Sir," she told him, with absolute perfect timing. "I wanted you to do it last night, in my room. I wanted you to take my knickers from me in the storeroom, earlier."

Holy buggering shit. 

Severus began to move his hips, hoping to edge slowly in and out of her, but the words that were falling from her mouth and the look on her innocent-but-debauched face were making that an impossibility. He was already pumping into her, wrapping her legs around his waist to draw the girl even closer.

"Believe me, Granger, next time I will," he bit out, holding her arse and thighs, pulling her against him with every thrust. "I'll take every fucking pair you have, so that I know you are always bare-arsed and ready for me whenever I want you."

-xxx-

Hermione's head fell back over the edge of Snape's desk, and she could see the ceiling and back wall of the familiar classroom, where she was now being taken roughly by the one professor she'd always feared. Filth was dripping from his mouth, yet she couldn't get enough of it, needing him to talk more and more, to tell her explicitly what he wanted to do to her. She'd waited all day yesterday and all day today for this, for her heart to beat faster, to feel alive again, in the only way she knew how.

Somehow, in the course of a weekend, this dark wizard had shown his ability to meet her every need. He felt so right, inside her. Still the guilt had not come. Shagging him in his own classroom was an erotic treat, yet Hermione doubted they'd get away with her staying behind after every lesson. So, for now, she would enjoy the moment.

She tightened her legs around his waist, folding her feet around the small of his back, as he fell forwards, slamming his hands down hard onto the surface of the desk and thundering into her, his cock hitting the top of her channel with every thrust, his breaths heavy and gasping, his eyes determined, his jaw clenched.

"Ye Gods, girl!" he shouted, as he gave a final hard thrust, his eyebrows creasing into his forehead as he came inside her, pumping out the aftershocks of his orgasm.

His head dropped forwards, hanging above her, and Hermione brought both her hands up and carded them through his hair, feeling the sweat from his brow and the heat leaving his body through his scalp. She lavished attention on his head and hair, enjoying her professor rolling his shoulders in obvious pleasure as she touched him.

At length he stood up, pulled his dick out of her, and cast cleansing charms upon them both, before offering his hand to help her to her feet.

"Thank you, Sir."

"Thank you, Miss Granger."

The dinner bell sounded.

"I'd better go. I need to drop my bag back to my room, before going to the Great Hall."

"Indeed you must," he agreed, an amused look on his face.

"May I have my knickers, please?"

"I have no idea where I banished them to, I'm afraid."

"Oh. Never mind, I'll grab another pair from my room when I take my bag," she replied, smoothing down her grey skirt and lifting her school bag over her shoulder.

Professor Snape grabbed her arm.

"Don't."

"Don't?"

"Do not grab another pair."

His dark eyes were alight with both sexual desire and playful mischief. It was an incendiary combination.

"You want me to go to dinner with no knickers on?"

"I do. And only I shall know your secret, Miss Granger. And you should know that is all I will think about, throughout the entire course of the meal, your bare cunt, uncovered and swollen from my touch, right there for the taking, under your prim little uniform."

He smirked wickedly at her, kissing her hand, wonderfully formally, as he cast his wand at the classroom door to unlock it.

Kinky bastard. 

Merlin, she loved it.


	10. Chapter 10

Dinner had certainly been interesting. Hermione had returned swiftly to her room before she could get chivvied by the second bell, throwing her school bag on the bed, where it hit the neatly-made covers with a loud whump, before standing and stalling in front of her chest of drawers. Her fingertips were on the metal drawer handles, but she did not open it. As much as she wanted to protest it, as much as she should be offended by the idea of what Professor Snape had asked her to do, she couldn't lie to herself. She wasn't going to put another pair of knickers on. No, she was going to brazenly walk down to the Great Hall for her supper bare-arsed, and more to the point, she wanted to do it.

Slightly relieved that her school uniform skirt was longer than most as she walked through the draughty corridors, she knew that nothing apart from a freak gust of wind barrelling down the hallways would reveal her secret. Hermione tried to keep the secret smirk from her face as she entered the Great Hall. Flicking her eyes briefly to the top table, she saw that Snape was already there, although she was not near enough to see the look on his face, which was probably a good thing.

The long, heavy benches that they sat on for meals presented the first problem. She was supposed to swing her leg over, like she usually did? Practically speaking, Hermione knew her worry was was ridiculous, since it was perfectly possible to get on and off the benches without revealing one's underwear to the masses; but knowing there was nothing between her and the prying eyes of the adjacent seventh-years made her slightly nervous.

She decided to just go for it, since if she dithered any longer she would start to draw confused looks from the Gryffindors around her. Unsurprisingly, she sat down without issue, so Hermione smoothed her skirt underneath her bum and down her lap; and tucked herself in to the table to eat. Leaning forward to reach for the serving dish, the bench felt colder than usual, without the security barrier of her knickers. She was very aware of her nakedness, even though technically, there was none.

And then she realised.

It wasn't about what she was revealing, it was about what she was concealing.

Only she and Professor Snape knew that she was bare, and they were both keeping that deliciously erotic little secret all to themselves.

The aim of the exercise was not to humiliate her into accidentally flashing her bits and pieces in public, that wasn't his intention at all. It was a way of keeping the tension piqued between them, keeping them excited and turned on, at least, she hoped it was, because her own arousal was keenly interested. What an amazing idea. Hermione helped herself to a large bowl of beef stew and ate hungrily, for clearly sex on the Potions master's desk had worked up an appetite.

Neville started to tell her a story about something improbable that Professor Sprout had tried to teach him in one of their private tutorials for his apprenticeship, and Hermione turned her attention to her friend, listening to his tale, smiling at the right places, all the while remaining very aware of the precious little secret beneath her skirt.

Merlin, she had to see him again tonight, and she didn't mean Neville.

-xxx-

The long house tables began to empty erratically at the end of the meal, unlike the start and end of term feasts where they were all dismissed together. At all other meals, students could leave the table once they had finished eating; to return to homework, to socialise, to go to the library or attend an after-school club or activity. Or, as Hermione Granger was planning, to attempt to secure a clandestine meeting with the most loathed teacher in the school. And not for any kind of homework or extra tuition. Even the thought of it excited her.

Hermione waited until the Gryffindor table was largely empty, since she'd been a little late getting to the Great Hall after the dinner bell had sounded, for … various reasons. Steeling her nerve, she kept her legs firmly together and swung them over the bench, standing up and heading for the large doors that led into the Entrance Hall.

As she walked, she felt the tiniest fizz of magic between her legs, as if a disembodied finger had slipped up her skirt, grazed her inner thigh and swiped once from the front of her pussy to the back, before beating a hasty retreat. What the hell?

She spun around, ready to give the culprit one of her best slaps to the face, but there was no one behind her, or even to the side. No one was within touching distance of her.

Casting her eyes upwards, she saw Professor Snape was getting to his feet, readying himself to leave the teachers' table. His austere black figure was towering over the two professors that were seated on either side of him. Hermione could not clearly see his face, but what she could see, was that Snape was returning his wand to the sleeve of his coat, presumably he had just cast a spell.

On her? Was that his spell that she had felt, between her legs?

She thought that he might have glanced at her, but wasn't sure, as he spun on his heel and exited the Great Hall through the teachers' door at the rear of the top table.

Her body continued to thrum with excitement, as she wondered where the hell to go now.

-xxx-

Not wanting to take herself straight to her room directly after dinner, Hermione decided to head for the library, for wont of anything else meaningful to do, taking a circuitous route that led her down the deserted trophy corridor and through a number of winding passages. She felt rather aimless, not really needing to visit the stacks of ancient books that were always her favourite place to rummage for hidden gems, but not wanting to return to her room just yet, either.

As she turned out of the trophy corridor and into a darker passageway, she was startled, but not altogether surprised, to feel a long arm snake out from the shadows and pull her into the gloom, against the wall.

"Did you heed my request?"

His unmistakable, deep drawl rumbled close to her ear, and Professor Snape pulled her back against him; Hermione could feel the steady heave of his chest through her spine.

"You know I did, Sir. You cast that spell as I was leaving the Great Hall."

"Ah. Very good, Miss Granger. You felt that?"

"I did."

"Was it … welcome?"

"After I'd got over the shock that I thought someone was touching me, yes, it was."

"I spent the meal with a most inconvenient erection hitting the underside of the staff table."

"I'd like to have seen that."

He growled, pulling her harder against him and sliding his hand down her front until he reached the hem of her skirt, slipping his fingers underneath it, seeking that which should have been covered. Snape pressed between her legs, and she allowed them to fall apart a little, wanting his fingers to find her wetness, wanting her professor to know that she had done as he had asked.

"You did indeed do as I asked," he hissed, stroking two fingers along the length of her outer labia.

"I did."

"The only thing that tempered me from actually shooting my load at the dinner table was the thought that you had probably not followed my instructions," he said quietly, pushing between her labia to find her clitoris, which he began to twirl gently between a finger and thumb.

"When have I ever not followed instructions, Sir?"

He harrumphed a snort of disbelief.

"Should I list all the ways that yourself, Potter and Weasley declined to follow instructions, over the years, Miss Granger?"

"Um. Maybe not."

"Indeed."

Hermione could not help but lean her head back against his firm chest and shoulder, allowing him to play with her clitoris as he wished.

"Not here," he said, cautiously, in response to her movement. "I will come to you. To your room, later tonight, after curfew. Are you in agreement?"

His fingers were still working their magic. Did he expect her to say no?

"Yes please," she whispered.

"So keen, little girl," he teased, withdrawing his touch and smoothing her skirt down, deliberately stroking his hands over her mound as he did so, applying pressure. "And where will you go now?"

"To the library," she replied, turning around to face him.

"Bare-arsed?"

He raised a questioning eyebrow and dropped a hand to his crotch, hefting his cock through his long coat and trousers.

"Of course."

"Bloody Merlin, girl. This bastard erection will never desist whilst I am thinking of you gallivanting about Hogwarts with such a delicious cunt within reach."

"I'll see you later, Sir," Hermione answered, putting the flat of her hand on his chest and daringly pressing him into the wall, before turning and walking away.

She was sure she heard a volley of creative swearwords as she stepped lightly down the corridor, and a huge grin spread across her face. The fearsome Professor Snape was under her control as surely as she was under his? The thought was incredibly erotic.

-xxx-

Severus watched Miss Granger walk down the dark corridor away from him, not turning back. Had she just flirted with him? Such a novel experience for such a man as himself. No witch had ever behaved in anything approaching a coquettish manner with him before, not without an ulterior motive, anyway, and Severus found he rather liked the feeling.

He had tailed the young witch from the Great Hall, using the hidden passages that were only available to the Headmaster or Headmistress, for of course he still had knowledge of them, despite no longer being the Head of the school. Granger had taken a strange route through the trophy corridor, leading to the dark passageway where he'd revealed himself, as if she'd wanted to be caught. By him, he thought, continuing to cup his hard cock through the thick swathes of black tailored material.

He'd barely been able to resist pulling the girl against him and burrowing under her skirt like a rampant teenager, desperate to find out what he'd wanted to know so urgently, which was whether she'd heeded his instructions and not replaced her underwear.

The erection that was swelling in his own undershorts had increased significantly when his fingers had come into contact with her bare cunt. Fucking hell. Of course, he would go to her later this evening, for how could he not? Despite taking Granger roughly across his desk (and he would not forget that in a hurry) less than an hour previously, Severus found that he was already in need of her again, hungry for her touch, needing completion, but also, something else.

This girl had shown him acceptance. She had shown him exactly how it felt to be genuinely wanted, not just needed to fulfil a purpose. Albus had needed him, but not wanted him. Severus had fulfilled his purpose, that was all. In contrast, Granger had not run from him in revulsion, but had met him head-on, admitting her own desires at the same time as he had been spilling his, leaving him in little doubt that she wanted him, no matter how incredulous he'd been. She spoke the truth.

A tiny crunch of dust beneath a scuffed foot swept his head out of his pants and had Severus narrowing his eyes and searching the passageway around him.

"Who is there?" he demanded, forcing his voice into the severe tone he reserved for students.

No response. There was no further sound, but yet he knew he had not imagined it.

"I know you are there. If I find you, and you have not revealed yourself voluntarily, the punishment will be so much worse than you could ever imagine."

Severus kept his words low and threatening, casting a bright Lumos from the end of his wand and searching the vicinity. There was nothing, and no one, to be seen, but yet he had heard something, he absolutely knew it. One did not work as a spy all these years without honing one's skills of vigilance and detection.

Fuck. He had been an idiot of the highest order to accost the girl in an open corridor when curfew had not yet passed. What had he been doing? Thinking with his cock, not his brain, that was for certain. He could only hope that for once, his keen ears had been playing a trick on him.

Fortunately, the shock of imminent discovery had dissipated his hard-on, so with a final look around the passageway, Severus headed in the opposite direction to Miss Granger, stalking back through the trophy corridor and scaring a couple of first-years who were admiring the Quidditch shields.

He was not on the night patrol this evening, therefore he would complete all his marking, which was always extensive, re-order his classroom, as he did every night, for each day it seemed that at least one class would entirely destroy it, and then set everything in place for the morning. Not knowing how long Granger would allow him to stay for, it seemed prudent to ensure that he had the bare minimum to do the following day. Mentally adding a shower, shit, smoke and a tumbler of firewhisky to that list, Severus was pleased to note that all the mentally listed activity would no doubt take him up to curfew. And then, if he was lucky, a young witch whom he should have been nowhere near, would be waiting for him.

-xxx-

It seemed an interminably long wait before the flames of her chamber fire glowed green, and Professor Snape's head appeared in the coals. Hermione had soon become bored of mooching about the library and had headed back to the guest corridor, brushing off Susan and Hannah with excuses of homework and an early night, and had a blissfully long shower instead, taking the time to dry her hair properly and cleaning her teeth in such a thorough manner that her dentist parents would have been proud.

"May I come through?" he asked, from the fire.

"Of course," she replied, stepping back and securing the waist tie of the floral robe around her.

The grate was soon full of him, tall and dark, wearing only his white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his black trousers. She was beginning to like this casual look very much. He smelled of the dungeons, and of potion ingredients. If she moved closer, if she kissed him, Hermione had no doubt her teacher would taste of firewhisky and Muggle cigarettes.

She wasn't wrong.

Snape had closed the distance between them in a split-second, sweeping his arms around her back and pulling her to her tiptoes, crashing his mouth onto hers firmly but gently, beginning to move in a hypnotic, sensuous caress on her receptive lips. He kissed like no one she'd ever known, with every fibre of his being, it seemed.

Hermione slid her hands up his arms, feeling the bare skin on his forearms turn to the shirt-covered hardness of his biceps, taut with tension. She squeezed, and he groaned quietly with pleasure as he continued to kiss her with what seemed like great attention to detail.

After a while, he stood up straight, reluctantly stopping the kiss as he allowed them both to draw breath; and stroking his hands on the soft material of the robe, on her back.

"I like this robe. You were wearing this on the night that I caught you out after curfew."

"That was only Friday, Sir."

"It seems a very long time ago."

"I suppose it does."

He slipped one hand to her face, cupping her cheek and tilting it upwards, letting his black eyes search hers as he delicately thumbed her cheekbone.

"Are you wearing anything underneath it, Granger?"

"What do you think?"

Hermione watched Snape close his eyes and swear under his breath. She didn't even catch the exact word.

"You, girl, are a Siren. A temptation that will be the death of me."

"Not really, Professor. I just … just like you very much, that's all."

"You like me," he repeated, monotone, and it wasn't a question.

"I do," she confirmed, reaching forwards to rest both her hands upon his slim waist.

"We are both fucked, personally and professionally, if we allow ourselves to continue this, Granger."

She didn't answer him, but just continued to look up at this dark, taciturn wizard who had turned her world on its axis over the last few days. Hermione had no answer to give. There was every probability that he was entirely correct. However, she didn't know how she could get through the next year of school without the danger, excitement and sheer pleasure that she gained from their illicit encounters.

Snape's eyes darkened, if that was even possible, as they continued to rove her face. When it was clear that no answer was forthcoming, he walked her backwards, sitting her in her own armchair before the fire, and then knelt before her.

What was he doing?

He placed his hands on her knees and pushed them slowly apart, before lifting them to the sides, setting her bare feet on the seat of the chair and opening her knees over the armrests.

"I have not done this before, but I desire to. Will you allow it?"

Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice to respond. Was he going to …?

Oh god.

As his raven head disappeared between her spread thighs, she realised that was exactly what he planned to do.

-xxx-

The rush of blood that travelled to his cock, as soon as he'd touched the tip of his tongue to her pussy, made Severus wish that he'd released the zip of his trousers before beginning this.

Holy fuck. This is what women tasted like, or just this one? It was like nothing he could have ever imagined; or described, and he wasn't even inside, yet.

He used his forearms to push her thighs apart, and his hands to separate her juicy labia, already pinked and warm to the touch of his sharp tongue. Severus had no fucking idea what he was doing; but presumed that if he vaguely followed the motions that his fingers made when he masturbated her, then he'd be somewhere approaching correct.

As it was, his neglected tongue and his eager lips appeared to have a mind of their own, moving upon her most private places seemingly on instinct; wanting and needing to devour every inch of her, to lavish attention on the exquisite sight before him.

Severus held open the top of her pussy, tickling the top of her clit with the tip of his tongue, enjoying the sound of the little gasp that she made as he did so. Oh yes. He would do more of that; and began to swirl the flat of his tongue around the sensitive nub, taking it round and round in an endless rhythm, and hoping to Merlin that the girl had had the forethought to cast a silencing charm upon her bedchamber door before he arrived.

His chin was wet from the arousal fluid that she was expelling, so, keeping her spread open, he lowered his head, licking down from her clit, flickering over her urethral opening and making her squeak with the new sensation, before finding her vagina trembling and ready for his attentions. Severus licked around the small hole, enjoying watching it flinch under his touch, before taking the dragon by the horns and shoving his tongue inside her as far as he could, tasting her sweet juices and revelling in the feel of her tight walls around his tongue, and the sound of her gasps of surprised pleasure.

Holy fucking shit. He had his tongue pushed deep inside a witch, and she appeared to be loving it, as Granger was twitching around under his arms that were holding her pinned to the armchair, her cunt splayed wonderfully wide before him.

He wanted to fuck her.

Yes, he was loving doing this, but his recently-virgin cock was screaming at him in a most uncouth way. All he had thought about the last few days was fucking this girl. Again, and again, and once again.

Remembering in a timely fashion that he was a wizard with a skill for wandless, non-verbal spells, Severus sent a Divesto to his trousers, leaving himself naked from the waist down, which at least relieved some of the pressure he was feeling down there. He had to finish the task in hand, without spunking on her bedchamber rug. That was all he needed to do.

Trying not to get over-aroused by her dripping cunt, which was almost an impossible task, he returned to her clitoris, laving it with his tongue, nudging her none-too-gently towards her orgasm. He felt her hand thread into his hair and massage his scalp before taking a handful and tugging at it, which did him no good at all, for her touch was exquisitely gentle and sensual.

Hit with an idea, he sucked her clit gently into his mouth, and the fevered scream that she tried to stifle told him that he was onto a winner with this. Keeping her pinned down and spread open, Severus began to draw her hardening bud between his lips, flickering his tongue across the top of her clitoris as he did so.

"Oh … oh, shit … oh, ye gods … yes!"

He sped his sucks faster and faster, feeling her inner thighs begin to tremble violently beneath his arms, but he did not let up, pushing the girl higher and higher, needing her climax, needing her to spend so that he could fuck her, right here in her own bed.

"Ohhhhhhh …"

Granger's long moan of relief as she fell over the edge of her cliff was as blissful for him as it was for her. Her pussy began to gush with a stream of fluid, and he dappled his fingers in it as he watched her hole pulse open and closed with the contractions of her orgasm.

"Granger, I need to fuck you," he warned, bluntly, releasing her legs and tugging her to her feet, not caring that she was still leaking, only knowing that she was soaked and ready for him.

"Please do," she breathed in reply, pulling him backwards towards her bed, and as she did so, he pulled inexpertly at the soft tie of her white silken robe, with the floral design that he liked so much.

He didn't even have it half open by the time her legs hit the bed, and Severus pushed her backwards, climbing above her and urging her further up the mattress.

"I need you," he hissed, taking hold of his ridiculously hard cock and trying to guide it somewhere vaguely in the direction of where it needed to go.

She pulled him upwards by way of seeking his lips, seemingly uncaring that they tasted purely of her own cunt. This put him in a much better position to cram himself inside her, which he did, eager to bury every inch of his prick, not happy until his aching balls were slapping against her arse as he thrust into her, hard and fast.

"I apologise," he panted. "I cannot get enough of you, girl."

"Don't be sorry, Sir. I feel the same way. I spent every lesson today thinking of how good it feels to have sex with you."

Was she serious? Did she not want to have a session where he managed to fuck her for a decent amount of time? Thus far, his performances had been less than stellar, and that was being kind.

"Granger, if you say things like that, I shall soon be coming with all the urgent speed of a teenage boy having his first wank."

The wench grinned at him, cheekily, her shoulders rising and falling as she fucked him back as surely as he was fucking her, letting out small, erotic gasps each time he reached the peak of filling her. Severus started to thrust faster. He couldn't help it. He pulled open the front of her robe and found himself a handful of firm, ripe tit, and began to fondle it as he slobbered around her mouth in a gauche interpretation of passionate kissing. The groaning, he soon realised, was coming from him.

"Silencing charm?" he huffed, lifting himself from her face, still rolling his hips against her, his cock so engorged and ready to spill, that he could barely see straight.

"Silencing charm already in place, Sir," she replied, scraping her fingers down his shirt-covered back.

"Not Sir."

She looked at him in surprise, placing one hand on his shoulder as he thrust against her.

"Not Sir," he repeated, with some difficulty, since he was so close to coming. "Not when we are like this."

"Severus, then," she tested, as if the word was unfamiliar on her tongue, which of course it was.

"Again," he demanded.

"Severus. Oh … Severus. More, please."

She wanted more, and she was calling him by his given name, whilst allowing him to fuck her.

Holy fucking mother of Circe, there was no more hope for him. Hooking his hands around her shoulders, he pistoned into her, thumping against her hard and fast, forcing his desperate orgasm from the end of his cock, shooting everything he had inside her.

"Only here can you use my name," he whispered, his breathing still unsteady, continuing to move in and out of her, deeply and slowly. "Only here ... Hermione."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the slow updates the last couple of chapters. Real life has been spanking my arse, and not in a good way! Your support and encouragement means the world, honestly, especially at a difficult time. On a more positive note, I've set up a facebook author page, SlytherPouf, if you want to follow me on there; pm for a chat, get updates, bug me for updates, anything really! Pouf x

Snape was lying to one side, his eyes closed and still breathing heavily, but quietly. She was facing him, and he'd pushed one sleeve of her thin robe from her shoulder and down her arm, slipping it off her hand and encircling her body with one strong arm, stroking her now-naked back with a firm and possessive caress. He ran his palm from the nape of her neck to the crease of her buttocks, and everywhere in between, as if delighting in the feel of her hot skin under his touch. Hermione writhed slowly under his hand, luxuriating in the sensation of being petted like a pampered cat.

"You are exquisite," he said, softly, pressing his lips to her forehead. "May the gods forgive me for what I am doing to you."

"You are not doing anything that I have not asked for and consented to," Hermione replied, extending a hand and sweeping a lock of black hair from his face, causing him to open his eyes, which looked dark and tired.

"Not a girl, but not yet a woman," he mused, continuing his attentions to her spine, which was keening under his gentle touch.

"I will be nineteen in less than three weeks. That's two years past the official age of wizarding majority, and three years past the legal age of sexual consent under British law."

He chuckled, and exhaled deeply, she hoped in relief.

"I cannot argue with your figures. We both know that this is unequal, due to our relative positions within the school, but yet …"

"Let's just enjoy what time we have, Severus," she interrupted, using the name he had given her permission to use, whilst they had been making love.

"No student in this school would dare to interrupt me, Hermione," he chided, fixing her with a stern look that she suspected he did not truly mean.

"Well then, that must show you think of me as more than a student."

"The fact that I dip my cock inside you has not already proved that?"

There was a glimmer of amusement in his black eyes that she liked very much, and Hermione suspected this was what counted as a joke, in his view. She could not help but lean towards him and kiss his unsmiling mouth, slipping a small hand up to cup his cheek, and he opened his lips with a moan of resignation, but also she heard approval, and sheer want.

There was no more talking for a little while, as the kiss became more heated, and she felt his hand press against the small of her back, pushing her hips forward so that his penis was pressing on the front of her mound. It felt soft, and rather sticky, but Hermione found she didn't care. The feel of his sharp tongue snaking around her own, flickering against the inside of her mouth, and the sounds of pleasure he was making, were all she could concentrate on.

"You must not address me by my given name at any time, around the school, unless we are in a situation like this, when we are alone together. Of course, I shall do likewise, and only refer to you as Miss Granger."

"Did you stop kissing me just to tell me something I already know?"

His lips curled into a lascivious snarl, that was in no way threatening, and rather arousing.

"You bloody cheeky little witch."

She smiled, and drew his face close again, continuing to stroke his jaw as he kissed her, feeling it move with his efforts, before pushing her hand into his long hair and lightly scratching his scalp.

"What am I to do with you?" he sighed, gathering her into his arms and pulling her body to lie on top of his own, sliding off the other sleeve of her floral robe as he did so, and discarding it to the bedchamber floor.

"What do you want to do with me?"

"Anything that you will let me," he answered, seriously, and his eyes blazed with desire.

Hermione gave her hips an experimental wiggle, for her naked pussy was now seated directly on top of his knob, and she could feel it warm and sticky against her, although she suspected the cause of the stickiness was mostly her, since they had not cleaned up after the sex.

"Merlin, Hermione," he groaned, laying back on the pillow and closing his eyes, briefly. "You will need to give a wizard longer than that to recover his composure, especially an old and decrepit one such as myself."

"You are neither old, nor decrepit. You are the same age as Sirius and Remus would have been, making you thirty-eight, or thirty-nine, if you have a particularly early September birthday."

"Nothing much phases you, does it, girl? You are correct, I am thirty-eight, and my birthday is in January, when I shall turn thirty-nine. I shall warn you that birthdays are not a cause for celebration and therefore I shall not be telling you the exact date, for risk you will take it upon yourself to bestow some greetings upon me, or worse, a gift."

"That is not very cheery, Severus."

"I am not a very cheery person, as you know."

"Oh, I don't know. I think there may be some happiness somewhere, lurking beneath the surface."

He scoffed in derision; but seemed to have no further verbal retort to make.

"It's my birthday soon," she added.

"So you keep saying. I hope you are not expecting felicitations from me."

"Of course I am!"

A filthy smirk spread across his face, as she looked at him expectantly.

"Will you settle for my cock?"

"I think that would be acceptable," she replied, smiling, before leaning down to drop a kiss to his lips, and felt the aforementioned cock twitch obligingly beneath her.

"Don't get excited," he warned. "That was entirely involuntary. I have absolutely nothing left in me tonight."

"We should do it like this, though," Hermione suggested. "I have no idea how it works with me on top, but I'm sure we can work it out together."

"I like your suggestion," he agreed, smirking on one side of his mouth. "I am more than open to the potential for experimentation."

He tumbled her backwards onto the mattress; and kissed her firmly on the lips.

"I really should be going. It is not wise to be here too long, plus it is a school night, you have lessons tomorrow and I have to teach."

"Will you stay at the weekend, then?" she asked.

"I would suggest that if we are spending the night together, that we do so in my own chambers, rather than in a student's bedroom."

"I want to," Hermione confirmed, immediately.

"You really do, don't you?"

"Yes."

"How odd. But yet, how pleasant. I am unaccustomed to such feelings."

Snape rolled to the side of the bed and stood up, searching on the floor for his trousers, pulling them on and fastening the belt. Slipping his hand into the pocket, he drew out a small phial, containing a liquid of which she couldn't see the colour, since the room was so dark, and he placed the bottle on Hermione's bedside cabinet.

"Is that the contraceptive potion?"

"It is, indeed. Take it in the morning, then make a note to take your next dose exactly four weeks hence. Allow me to cast a charm to cover us this evening, although the potion will be effective after intercourse it is best to take all possible precautions."

He drew his wand from the back pocket of his trousers, and Hermione felt the warm fizz of the contraceptive charm over her abdomen. He then pulled the bedcovers over her, and she felt rather like a small child being put to bed. That was not a thought she wanted to have, in their current situation.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

She looked up at him; and pulled her arms out of the covers, reaching up to him.

"Please kiss me once more, before you leave?"

"Astonishing," he mumbled, but nonetheless leaned forwards and tenderly kissed her lips, stroking her arm, not leaving her with a cursory peck.

"I had an amazing time," she told him, honestly, as he began to draw back.

"As did I … Hermione," he replied, in a stilted fashion, as if the sound of her name was still somewhat unfamiliar on his tongue.

She laid back, satisfied, and watched her professor as he crossed the room, took up a handful of Floo powder and tossed it into the flames. She watched him as he walked into the fire, now glowing green in the dark room, and didn't look away until the last bit of him had spun through the Floo, and there was nothing more to be seen but the orange and yellow flames of a very normal fireplace.

-xxx-

Breakfast the following morning brought an unwelcome surprise in the shape of a messily-written letter from Ron, delivered by Errol, the Weasleys' old post owl, that Hermione was frankly amazed was still alive, let alone up to delivering letters between Devon and Scotland.

Hermione!

I'm sorry I haven't written before now. George is keeping me really busy in the shop, but I'm enjoying it, especially as it's only young kids in here, since everyone over eleven is at school, with you. They love watching me demonstrate the jokes and tricks, but I don't think they understand most of them. 

What's it like being back at school? You must be the oldest person ever to be a student there. Say hi to Neville for me, and that I'll write to him soon. Ask him if he's got a girlfriend yet! (Not you, obviously!) 

Don't say hi to Ginny. She took my racing broom to Hogwarts without asking me first and I'm pretty pissed off about that, actually. I doubt I'll see it again until Christmas. 

When is your first Hogsmeade weekend? I thought I could come and meet you in the Three Broomsticks? I miss you being around, and, I do love you, Hermione. I can't wait until you're finished with school and we can be together all the time. 

Let me know about Hogsmeade, yes?

Love, Ron 

Hermione's eyebrows raised the further she read down the letter. It was probably the longest one he'd ever written. Even when they were all in Gryffindor Tower together, Ron's letters to his parents had been notoriously short, always interfering with his lazing-around time.

She had become bored of his letter as soon he'd accused her of being the 'oldest student in Hogwarts.' Ron had not understood her decision to return and take her NEWTs, nor how important it was to her. Clearly, he still didn't understand. She had a good mind to tell him that she was Neville's new girlfriend; but didn't want to affect Neville's fledgling relationship with Hannah.

"Have you got Ron's broomstick, Ginny?" she asked her friend, who was two seats away from her.

"Of course," the youngest Weasley grinned. "I wasn't going to bring my one, that's even more of a heap of shit than Ron's Cleansweep. He's noticed?"

"He has indeed," Hermione confirmed, waving Ron's letter vaguely in the air.

"Oh well, boo hoo," Ginny retorted, tossing her hair in a nonchalant manner, and returning to her breakfast. "There's nothing he can do about it now."

Siblings, honestly. Hermione was rather pleased she was an only child, sometimes.

Ron's Hogsmeade question was another matter. Her initial thought had been, no way, but in truth it made sense. They could meet in the Three Broomsticks, and Hermione could tell him that they were no longer in the relationship that they had never actually confirmed they had started. It would be awkward, Ron would probably be upset, but at least she would have an excuse to get away, back to the castle, putting as much distance between them as possible.

There wasn't time now, as it would shortly be time for her first lesson, but she would write to him later. Her head was filled only with thoughts of her dark Potions professor, there was no space or time for infantile redheads. Hermione felt mean as she thought it, but that didn't make it any less true.

-xxx-

Severus drank his morning coffee and surprised himself by eating a full breakfast, perhaps last night's activities had worked up an appetite. Good. He could do with putting on some more weight, but nutrition hadn't exactly been a priority for the last few years. It would certainly take some time to restore his abused body to full health, not that it ever really had been particularly healthy.

Professor Masters took the seat next to him, ordering tea and a fruit salad.

"I came to see you last night, Severus," she began, without preamble, and he turned slightly towards the new Defence teacher.

"Oh, yes?" he replied, ensuring that he remained non-committal.

"Yes. I knocked for quite a while at the door of your private office."

Severus knew that he had not left for Granger's room until well after curfew, so it must have been rather late that the woman had called upon him.

"I was probably sleeping, Andrea. I retire early on nights when I am teaching the following morning."

"But surely you would hear someone knocking on your door, even if you were in bed."

"Indeed, I would not. I always cast a silencing charm upon retiring, so that I am not disturbed. If the matter is urgent, Minerva would contact me via a Floo call."

The elegant witch seemed rather put out. Perhaps she was used to her demands being met. He wondered if she was married, to a weak little wizard who indulged his wife's every whim. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Very well. However, I do need to speak with you. I note that neither of us are on night patrol tonight, so are you amenable to meeting in my office at nine o'clock?"

"Can we not converse in the staff room?"

"This will not be a conversation that you would wish to be overhead, Severus."

The skin on the back of his neck prickled. That was a threat, and a thinly-veiled one at that. One did not spend twenty years bearing Voldemort's mark and not recognise the same darkness in another. Had Masters been a Death Eater? He was certain she had not. He did not recognise her name; and had never seen her before the start of term, when she had been introduced alongside the two other new professors.

"I will attend your office at nine. However, be aware, Andrea, that I am unaccustomed to being ordered about the castle by my colleagues."

She pretended not to notice his warning.

"Excellent. I shall see you then, Severus. I'll order tea; and look forward to spending time with you."

Without another word, and with a pleasant smile not befitting the conversation in the slightest, Professor Masters left the table, leaving her tea to go cold, and her fruit untouched.

What the bloody hell had that all been about?

He suddenly had a horrible thought, and hoped to Merlin that it hadn't been her who had been spying upon his antics in the corridor last night. That could be very fucking awkward indeed.

-xxx-

Hermione made her way back to the guest corridor after the final lesson of the day ended, intending to reply to Ron's letter straight away, so that she did not start overthinking what her actions should be. It would be grossly unfair to keep stringing Ron along, allowing him to think that she was his girlfriend, when that was no longer the case, if indeed it ever had been.

Not that she had any intention of making Professor Snape her boyfriend, for that idea was both ludicrous and laughable, but her heart was definitely not with Ronald Weasley. She loved him dearly, of course she did, but in the same way as she loved Harry, as a very dear friend, nothing more. After their kiss on the night of the final battle, she should never have allowed anything to progress further, but in the aftermath of the war, when nobody knew who they were anymore, she and Ron had found comfort in one another. He could excuse her that … couldn't he?

They were both more secure now, Ron in his work and she in her studies, and life was beginning again. It had taken the attentions of a scary Potions professor and ex-Death Eater spy to awaken that life, but when he had, it had taken him mere seconds to achieve what Ron had spent the whole summer attempting. To find her again, to set her heart beating and remind her that she was alive, albeit floating in a sea of grief and loss.

No, there was no way she would play with Ron's feelings. She would be honest, but firm, when she freed him of any obligation to her. Hogsmeade was set for two weekends hence, and she would be ready for him.

Not really looking where she was going, Hermione collided with Susan Bones in the corridor that housed all their rooms, for it seemed that Susan was paying very little attention, too.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Hermione," Susan stuttered, checking the floor, presumably to see if she had dropped anything.

"I'm sorry too, I wasn't looking … oh, Susan, are you alright? Have you been crying?"

Her friend's eyes were red, her face was a little puffy, and her whole demeanour looked sad and defeated, and she continued to look at the floor.

"It's nothing, really. I just had a bit of an argument with Hannah."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Susan shook her head, although she did finally raise her eyes to meet Hermione's.

"I'm sure Hannah will be fine. She's helping our favourite professor with a very special job. Only enough need for one helper, apparently," Susan replied, with a somewhat haughty sniff.

"What do you mean?"

"Briner. He asked Hannah to go and help him after her final lesson today, you know, when he called us back at the end of Transfiguration this morning?"

Hermione nodded, to encourage the girl to continue; but did not say anything.

"He told her to come back this afternoon, and that's where she is now. I offered to help as well, and he looked at me like I was shit on his shoe before telling me he only needed one of us."

"But, why would that upset you, Susan?"

There was a long pause. A very long, awkward silence.

"Because I fancy him, okay? Professor Briner. And Hannah knows that!"

Oh, wow.

"And you wanted to have time alone with him?" Hermione asked, not really sure what to say, her brain whirring frantically to think of some good advice.

Susan nodded, wiping her eyes with the cuff of her jumper.

"Oh, Susan. Even if Professor Briner had chosen you over Hannah, nothing could happen, you know that, don't you? The school code prohibits relationships between teachers and students."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Hermione was hit with a tsunami of guilt, and felt as if she were the worst kind of hypocrite, which of course, she was. Somehow, she had managed to convince herself that what she and Snape were doing was somehow outside the rules of the school, that because it wasn't hurting anyone, it must be alright.

"I'm of age, Hermione. As we all are."

"But Briner is still your teacher. That makes things unequal, even though you're of age. Plus, Susan, he's an awful lot older than you."

"He's only just thirty! I'm eighteen, so that isn't a huge age difference."

A lot less than the one I'm currently embroiled in, Hermione thought to herself, and sighed.

"Has Professor Briner given you any indication that he may be interested in you, in … that way?" she asked.

"Well, not exactly," Susan admitted, "but he's always asking Hannah and I to do extra jobs, especially in the classroom, and he talks to us a lot, before the lesson starts."

Yes, Hermione had noticed that, particularly the day that Malfoy had sat next to her and pointed out the sleazy way in which Briner had approached the two girls. He'd also predicted that the professor would go for Hannah Abbott first. Could Draco possibly have been exactly right? He'd certainly seemed very sure of himself, cocky, even.

"I'm sure that Hannah would never do anything to intentionally hurt you, Susan. It's more likely that she's simply doing what she's been asked, by a teacher. I'm presuming she hasn't said that she likes him … you know, in that way too?"

"No, she doesn't at all. In fact, she laughed at me when I admitted it. Hannah really likes Neville, actually."

Hermione smiled.

"That makes me happy to hear, since I know for a fact that Neville fancies Hannah."

"He does?"

"Oh, yes."

Now Susan was smiling too.

"We need to get those two together."

"We certainly do. And Susan, please promise me that you won't go after Professor Briner? Not while you're a student, anyway. Afterwards, well I suppose that's up to you, but I think once you're out of Hogwarts you'll find far more suitable men."

"Admire him from afar, you mean?" Susan asked, rolling her eyes.

"In a manner of speaking."

"You don't see the attraction, do you, Hermione?"

"I'm afraid I certainly do not, but, each to their own. Now, why not go and wash your face, relax in your room for a while, and be ready to make peace with Hannah when she gets back from whatever she's had to do. This isn't her fault."

Susan nodded, and headed along the guest corridor to the chambers that she shared with her friend. Hermione entered her own bedchamber, pushing the door shut behind her and locking it, throwing her bag down on the desk chair.

She had intended to start work on her letter straight away, but instead she flopped onto the bed, neatly made by house-elves, and stared at the scarlet canopy strung across the four bedposts above, feeling more hypocritical than she'd ever done in her life.

They, she and … Severus, were different. Weren't they?

-xxx-

Severus rapped on Professor Masters' door at exactly nine o'clock sharp, not one minute early, nor late. Whatever she wanted from him, he desired to get it over with as soon as possible. He did not socialise with colleagues, other than those occasions where he was obliged to.

He felt the shudder of her security ward falling, and the door swung open. He entered, and she was seated behind her desk. He noted with satisfaction that several of his more gruesome DADA pictures, that he had hung the year that he had been incumbent in this office, were still in-situ. Either she, or more probably, Amycus Carrow, had taken a liking to them.

Seating himself without being invited, he raised an expectant eyebrow in her direction. She really was a very attractive witch. Presuming her to be a similar age to himself, possibly a little older, had he not been engaged in an intense sexual awakening with a student, no doubt he would have wanked himself into a frenzy of frustration over this woman.

"Should we make small talk about our respective classes, or shall I get straight to the point?" she asked, curtly.

"Straight to the point, Madam. I have many demands on my time."

"Is that so?"

He did not answer her. He would not be goaded by a new teacher, however visually appealing she might be. He was her superior in every respect.

"What do you do here, Snape? Locked away all these months, no one even remotely your age in the castle?"

"I have no idea what you are asking. Continue," he replied, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Do you perhaps have a little witch tucked away in Hogsmeade? Or possibly there is a discreet brothel there, catering for the poor, lonely teachers?"

"Are you asking whether you can seek sexual services in Hogsmeade, Andrea?"

She laughed, an insincere tinkle that sounded wrong, too girlish, to be coming from her.

"Oh Severus. You really are rather funny. I mean, where do you seek yours?"

What the fuck?

"I fail to see what business my sex life is of yours, Madam."

"Perhaps you prefer your witches a little younger?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Do you find the older students are enough to keep you satisfied, Severus?"

Fuck. It had been her that had seen him manhandling Miss Granger in the hallway adjacent to the trophy corridor, and now she was toying with him, just waiting to reveal what she knew. He had no idea how to talk his way out of this one.

"That is a disgusting aspersion, Andrea, and I will thank you not to repeat it. Careless talk leads to rumours, which in turn lead to accusation."

She said nothing; but sat back in the large leather desk chair that used to belong to him, strumming her manicured fingernails on the wooden surface of the desk in an infuriatingly casual manner.

"No doubt you have taken to lurking around dark corridors, Professor Masters, poking your nose where it does not belong."

Looking surprised, she sat up straight.

"I most certainly have not, Snape. Of what do you speak?"

He declined to answer her. He might have just hung himself by premature accusation.

"It is of no matter," she continued, seemingly unconcerned. "Fuck every student in this castle, for all I care, although I have a more … socially acceptable solution for you."

"Go on."

"I need your name."

"What?"

What the fuck was she talking about? His name?

"Your name has been exonerated. It gives you protection. I want that same protection."

"Why do you need protection?"

They stared at one another for a long time, and she seemed to be breathing rather heavily. Was she …? No, she couldn't be, could she? He would have recognised her. Nonetheless, he would check. He roughly unfastened the buttons on his left cuff, forcing up the black sleeve of his coat and the white cotton of his shirt to expose what was left of the Dark Mark, still fading at a rapid rate since the demise of Voldemort.

The rule was, if one Death Eater revealed the Dark Mark, then the other must also reveal theirs. If Andrea Masters had been a Death Eater, she would know this.

A slow, rather unpleasant smile spread across her face. She lifted her left arm; and slid her loose robe up to uncover her forearm. Severus held his breath. Was she?

Her skin was smooth, white, and unblemished. She bore no Dark Mark, faded or otherwise.

"I was never marked, Severus," she explained, "but I bear the connection."

The connection?

"Your name is not Andrea Masters."

It was not a question.

"Of course it isn't. My real name is Andrea Rookwood."

"The wife of Augustus?"

"Yes."

Severus remembered Augustus Rookwood only too clearly. A tall, vicious Death Eater, with badly pockmarked skin and black hair streaked with grey. A bloodthirsty, arrogant, although magically-powerful wizard, Rookwood had worked inside the Ministry to bring it under the control of Voldemort at the height of the war; and had been arrested by Aurors after the battle of Hogwarts, and permanently incarcerated in Azkaban.

"I was granted a divorce after Augustus' imprisonment, as were many partners of Death Eaters who will die in on that godforsaken rock in the North Sea. But I am not trusted, I am reviled, and have no hope of a new life now that I am forever tarred as a Death Eater's wife."

"So, you assumed a false name, and hid yourself away in the most remote castle in wizarding Britain?"

"Exactly."

"Do you even have teaching qualifications?"

"I do. I was a home educator for pureblood families."

"You are supremely qualified to teach the Dark Arts, then," he deadpanned.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts. I am passionate about the subject. I have no desire to repeat my former husband's mistakes."

"I hear that you are an effective teacher," he conceded.

"Thank you. I do try my best to engage the children's interest and produce good results."

"And what assistance are you seeking from me? I refer you to your reason for summoning me here."

"I was trying to ascertain whether you have a wife, a lady friend, or alternative … arrangements?"

"Not that it is your business, but no, I do not," he replied, mentally apologising to Hermione for denying her, although it was for her own safety.

"Then I would like to propose marriage."

"I beg your pardon?"

He felt his black eyes burn with cold fury. She dared to propose marriage? To him? What the actual fuck was going through this witch's mind?

"I cannot hide forever. I am never going to see Augustus again, and I am not sure I would wish to. Life the last few years have been incredibly hard."

Her life had been incredibly hard? She should have tried living his.

"Your name has been exonerated. You are respected, and you have your freedom. I need the protection that your name would give me, to be Madam Snape; your wife, a fellow teacher and a free witch, in every sense. I cannot live under the shadow of Augustus Rookwood for the rest of my life. We had no children. I can be a good wife to you, Severus, in return for the respectability that your name gives me."

"Why me?"

"Because no one else can understand a Death Eater's wife like a Death Eater. You know what I have been through."

"And do you, Madam," he asked, coldly, "know what I have been through?"

"Augustus has told me much of your bravery."

Severus scoffed.

"I can be certain that he did not phrase my contribution in those terms. If it were not for me, it is likely he would not be rotting in Azkaban. I believe that you are proposing this union in order to avenge him, that you mean me harm."

"Severus! That is a terrible thing to say! Of course I do not wish you harm."

"Then what would be in this supposed marriage, for me? I can see how you benefit, but I am quite content in my own life."

Masters stood up from her chair, and walked around to his side of the desk, perching on the edge, far too close to him. He tried to push backwards, to create more space between them, before realising just in time that his chair did not have wheels, thankfully avoiding crashing backwards to the floor.

"You have been a brave man, Severus Snape," she purred. "But yet, you do not have a wife, or anyone close to you. Augustus would tell me how you never participated in the Revels, he knew not why, but we presumed … impotence? If you agree to bond with me, I promise that I will devote time and care to curing your little problem. I will even bear you a child, should you so wish. I will be the exact wife that you need, that you deserve."

Severus was so angry at her presumption, at her gall in asking him to engage in such a union, without guilt or shame, that he stood up, pushing the chair away from him.

"I will leave now, Andrea, and we shall both pretend that you never made such an offer to me. We shall never speak of it again."

"Severus! Please, don't go. Can't we discuss it?"

She had leapt from the edge of the desk and was now standing before him, trying to take his hand, but he was re-fastening the cuff of his coat, that he had unbuttoned to reveal his Dark Mark to her.

"There is nothing to discuss. It is a preposterous suggestion."

"I will not be taking no for an answer," she shot back, and her tone had changed dramatically, from pleading, to threatening. "You will not ruin the plans I have set in motion."

He did not answer her, but instead turned towards the office door, having had more than enough of this ridiculous conversation.

"Perhaps I should start lurking in dark corridors, as you suggest," she said, in a cold, measured voice.

"What?"

"If you have a fancy piece around this school, a little girl that you take your pleasure from, I will find her, and I will destroy her, if she stands in the way of my future."

"I am leaving. Let us not speak of this again."

Professor Masters did not try to stop him, this time. Severus yanked open her heavy wooden office door and swept through it, allowing it to bang closed behind him. He stalked through the Defence classroom and out into the hallway, his robe billowing impressively behind him as he headed for his private lab, where a few hours of contemplative brewing would surely quiet his mind.

Andrea Masters had not seen him behaving inappropriately in the corridor with Miss Granger. If she had, she would have named her, certainly, and would not have threatened to 'find and destroy' her.

So, apart from the fact that the new Defence professor was almost certainly now his enemy, an enemy that had just proposed marriage to him, no less, and offered to birth him a child, he still did not know who had seen them in the corridor last night.

There was still someone in this castle that knew what they were doing, and Severus had no idea who it was. Student or staff? He would have to wait for that person to show their hand first; and find out what it would take to buy their silence.


	12. Chapter 12

It took a good few hours working on the Forgetfulness potion for Severus to shake off the anger that his conversation with Andrea Masters had provoked. Not wanting to cause any devastation in his precious laboratory, he had been forced to calm down, having stalked here through the corridors at a brutal pace, breathing hard, both angry and offended.

In the space of a few minutes, Masters had accused him of both impotency and fucking the students, and Severus doubted if the bloody woman even realised that she'd contradicted herself. Perhaps she didn't even care, so keen was she for him to accept her offer.

She was a very attractive witch, that was not in doubt, and had obviously presumed that Severus would be snapping at her heels like an eager dog, to accept her. His refusal must have taken her by surprise, and offended her, for it seemed she was not a witch who was used to being declined or disappointed. For a Death Eater's wife, this was wholly unsurprising.

Severus was under no illusion that Andrea Rookwood, for that was who she truly was, had any feeling or particular fancy for him. Her husband, whom she was now divorced from, was currently rotting away in a lifetime cell within the walls of Azkaban prison. Andrea had proposed a marriage of convenience that could lift her from the low social status that she now found herself in, as the wife of a proven Death Eater. There was a tinge of desperation in her scrabble to restore herself to a better position.

Severus exhaled hard, frustrated and cross at being considered such an easy target. It was almost offensive.

His first, and most succinct thought, was that Andrea resented the fact that he'd walked free, despite being branded with the Dark Mark, whilst her Augustus had been imprisoned for daring to walk with Voldemort.

Even if Severus took leave of his senses and accepted her offer of marriage, he'd have to sleep with one eye open, for he wouldn't trust the witch not to suffocate him during the night, in a callous attempt to avenge her former husband. Andrea Rookwood had no feeling for him, no fancy or desire, her only thoughts were for herself and her future life, which he supposed was understandable, but there was no way she would be involving him in her grand plan for self-reinvention.

Besides all of that, the only witch on his mind that he desired was the tempting and oh-so-forbidden Miss Granger, who fulfilled every sexual need he could possibly have imagined, and some more that he hadn't. The girl was a revelation, in every sense of the word. He considered any moment not spent with her, well, apart from when he was teaching, to be a moment wasted. How quickly she had insinuated herself under his skin, tormenting his every synapse in the most delicious and pleasant of ways.

Thoughts of his undeserved luck and sheer good fortune brought the tiniest upturn of his lips as he briskly collected together his brewing ingredients, the conversation with his colleague quickly falling to the back of his mind as he mentally calculated when he could next see the girl, when he could next be alone with her.

-xxx-

The week seemed to be moving in slow-motion, Hermione felt, as she left the Potions classroom for the third and last time that week. She had not spoken to Professor Snape on her own since he'd left her bedchamber, he'd made no move to contact her, and she had not questioned it. Perhaps she should.

The inequality in their respective positions meant that any contact was arranged by him, but why did it have to be so? Had she not approached him by knocking on the door of his private laboratory the night they'd first kissed?

She'd had two Potions lessons this week, before today, and had not hung back after either of them. It would look rather suspicious, not to mention highly unusual, if she were seen to be doing that on a regular basis. Once the bell had rung at the end of this lesson, she had started to pack her bag slowly, and when glancing up had met Snape's eye,but he'd given a barely perceptible shake of his head, warning her away. It was the tiniest movement, but she knew what it meant. Go. Don't stay.

It was hard not to see it as rejection, and she had to force the logical part of her mind to the fore, so as not to feel mightily pissed off.

Hermione meandered down the corridors towards the Ancient Runes classroom on the other side of the castle, with four flights of stairs above, and at least nine corridors to traverse the journey gave her plenty of thinking time.

She had owled her reply to Ron's letter straight away, as once the idea was in her head of telling him she wanted to end their relationship, not that it officially had ever been one, Hermione knew she had to do it as soon as possible. Whether or not they had declared themselves as a fully-fledged courting couple, Ron thought they were, and therefore she was technically cheating on him, which did not make her feel particularly good about herself. She had no wish to hurt her friend.

Telling him that the Hogsmeade exeat was the weekend after next; and suggesting that he meet her in the Three Broomsticks just after lunch, Hermione had then given him a few banal details about school, and asked some polite questions after his health, family and work. Ronald wouldn't read it anyway, once he had the details of the meeting, he was never a great correspondent at the best of times.

Passing the entrance to Gryffindor Tower on the way to Ancient Runes, she couldn't resist nipping inside to have a look around, to have a nose at the noticeboard and just breathe in the sheer familiarity of the comfortable scarlet common room. The Fat Lady admitted her with a wink, giving her ten minutes to be in and out, for though she was still a Gryffindor, Hermione and the other returning students were not officially resident in their House accommodations anymore. Even the Fat Lady admitted she wasn't quite sure of the rules.

As she perused the notices, smiling at sign-up sheets for Wizard Chess Club, a poster imploring for the return of a lost cat, and a battered list of house rules, there was a small sheet of parchment giving some rather important details indeed. Noting down the specific dates in a notebook that she kept in her bookbag, Hermione felt the excitement of a plan forming; the thrill of the forbidden and her new interest in pulse-raising activities piquing her interest and pushing her forwards, yet again.

-xxx-

Severus was seated moodily in the staff room, sitting in his usual armchair with a strong coffee on the small table next to him. Dinner was long since passed, and the night had drawn in, signalling that the students' evening activities would soon come to an end.

He had sighed as Granger left his classroom earlier, after her Potions lesson, for the girl had clearly been lingering behind, perhaps hoping to spend some time with him? He'd hoped so, but the very idea had still seemed so preposterous. It wouldn't do, however, for her to stay back again, once the class had finished, particularly as the last time she had done so, he'd ended up fucking her as she lay on his desk. His cock had given a small pulse at the rather erotic memory, and he'd thanked Merlin that he was securely seated behind his desk as the final students left the room.

Severus had shaken his head at her, hopefully unnoticed, to indicate that she should leave, and that now was not the time. It hadn't been what he wanted to do at all. Severus would have been more than happy to bolt the door of the dungeon classroom and effect a repeat performance across his desk, however, the fourth year Ravenclaw Hufflepuff class were arriving in ten minutes, and Severus wasn't sure even he, with all his newly-discovered enthusiasm for sexual intercourse, could go from start to finish in that small window of opportunity, and he'd therefore dissuaded her.

As the yellow and blue-tipped student robes of the two houses begun to troop into the room, the thought of the evening that yawned ahead of him suddenly seemed like a gaping chasm, for he was on night patrol, meaning that Severus could not just disappear to his quarters after supper, he would be forced to endure the staff room until half-an-hour before curfew, when he could start treading the stone floors of the corridors, taking housepoints from any coloured tie he could. Even the Slytherins had learned very quickly not to take the piss when Professor Snape was on night patrol.

He was jolted from his silent misery by Andrea Masters pulling up a chair next to him, using her wand to do so, for the staff room armchairs were heavy and cumbersome, and putting her own coffee cup alongside his on the table, as if she had been invited.

"Good evening, Severus," she began, smiling. "Have you had a pleasant day?"

Not even bothering to think of a withering retort, Severus simply shot her his best death stare, the one he usually reserved for Minerva or the inane Sybill Trelawney.

"Now, now, Severus!"

That was the voice of the Scottish harridan herself, ringing across the staff room and approaching at a rate that he was unprepared for.

"There is no need for that scowl on your face, Severus," chided Minerva, as she reached where the two of them were sitting. "Andrea was simply being pleasant. Perhaps word has not yet reached her ear that attempting to form a friendship with you is like trying to cuddle a hedgehog."

She wants a lot more than friendship, he thought, the stinging retort on the tip of his tongue.

"It's fine, Minerva," simpered Andrea. "Teaching is a stressful job at the best of times. It's fine if Severus does not feel like conversing. I shall leave him be."

She made to get up from her chair but was stopped by the interfering Headmistress.

"Nonetheless, Andrea, you have made an offer of friendship that Severus has rudely rejected. Times have moved on, Severus, there is no need for this silent treatment any longer. You have your life and your freedom, and you should enjoy it, my boy!"

"And how do you suggest I do that, Minerva?" he asked, regretting his words as soon as he closed his mouth, for her gimlet eyes sparked with what must be an insanely bad idea.

"Hogsmeade duty, next weekend, Severus! Yourself and Andrea. A few hours shopping, a long lunch in the Three Broomsticks, with some cursory supervision of the students, should see you both very well."

"I do not do Hogsmeade duty, as you very know, Minerva."

"You did not do Hogsmeade duty, past tense. Albus banned you from it since you were so vile to the students and quite ruined their day. I think its high time for another go. Next Saturday, both of you, no arguments."

And with that, she nodded firmly, and left him alone with the dreaded wife-of-Rookwood.

"I'm sorry, Severus," Andrea whispered, taking hold of his hand in what she must have hoped was a conciliatory gesture, but he snatched it away as if she'd hexed him.

"For what, exactly?" he hissed, quietly, a sneer creeping to his lips. "Sorry for landing me with my first Hogsmeade duty for fifteen years? Or perhaps you are apologetic for having the audacity to propose marriage to a man you know nothing about?"

"It makes sense," she replied, curtly, not at all abashed by his attitude. "We can discuss it properly, and more civilly, over lunch next weekend."

He stood, leaving his coffee undrunk, but needing to leave her company, immediately, lest he pour it over her head.

"Madam, we shall be discussing nothing other than the whereabouts of the students that we will be supervising, and if you are very lucky, the weather."

She smiled, beatifically. Andrea Masters actually had the fucking gall to smile at him.

He stalked across the room, throwing open the immense, heavy door and setting off down the corridor at a great pace, lest he find himself sacked for hexing a colleague. It was enough that he was fucking a student, without adding assault on a staff member to his litany of misdeeds.

Severus Snape, a shining example of an educator, he thought, grimly, as he started his night patrol early.

-xxx-

Hermione left the library late, well after curfew. Madam Pince had left her in there, reading a wizarding novel purely for her own enjoyment, not schoolwork. Hermione carefully closed the door behind her, securing the room, as Pince would not have allowed any other student to remain in her precious library after she'd left for the day. She trusted Hermione implicitly.

She began to wander the dark, echoing corridors, knowing exactly what, or rather, whom, she was seeking. Her heart began to pump loudly in the cold silence, and Hermione could feel her blood pushing faster through her veins as she enjoyed the thrill of being out after curfew.

It was ridiculous, really. She was going to turn nineteen next week; and was still finding it funny to defy the teaching staff and run around the school after hours.

But.

Firstly, she wasn't running. And secondly, she had every intention of getting caught.

"Miss Granger."

The low, familiar drawl from behind her made Hermione smile in relief, and caused a lurch of excitement to tug at the very pit of her gut. She turned around, unsmiling.

"Yes, Sir?"

He walked towards her, his face expressionless, although as he reached her, Hermione could see that his eyes were alight, interested, and trained fully on her own.

"I am unsure, Miss Granger, whether you complied with my instruction of familiarising yourself with the school rules. Particularly those pertaining to curfew and its requirements thereof."

"I did not, Sir."

He arched one elegant black eyebrow, and the combination of his stern teacher's demeanour mixed with the fire in his eyes, sent her insides skittering once again. Snape drew his wand from his sleeve, and cast, in one smooth movement, at the large wall tapestry beside them, murmuring an incantation that Hermione had never heard before. He then looked at her again, as if giving her a chance to change her answer. She remained silent.

Without warning, he swept her bodily towards the tapestry, ignoring her squeak of surprise as they pushed straight through it, as if there was no heavily-embroidered material there at all. They were in a small alcove, which Hermione suspected that Snape had just conjured, for she had no knowledge of such a concealed space. Then again, there was so much about Hogwarts castle she still didn't know, and probably never would.

They stood terribly close together, since the space was so small. His greater height was looming over her and his full teaching robes made him look rather intimidating, although she was not afraid. Oh no. She was aroused, excited, and breathless.

"Did you know that it was my night patrol, Granger?" he asked, looking down his long nose at her.

"I did," she confirmed. "I was in Gryffindor Tower earlier, and I saw the schedule on the noticeboard."

"Very well. And should I dare to hope that the reason you are out after curfew is because you wished to see me?"

"You should."

Hermione heard nothing but a gruff mutter of 'fucking Merlin,' and Snape was upon her, his strong arms clamped around her back and his mouth seeking hers, nudging her lips upwards and beginning a kiss of such urgency that she thought she might fall over, had he not been holding her so tightly.

Her arms automatically moved upwards and wound themselves around his neck, pulling him down, and eliciting a groan of approval from her professor as she did so, at which point he pushed his tongue into her mouth, rolling it around hers, kissing her thoroughly and completely. She hummed her approval into the kiss, grasping at his neck, keeping him close, wanting exactly this, exactly how it was happening, right now.

His hands were beginning to move up and down her back, clutching handfuls of her uniform and then releasing, stroking, exploring. At length, they travelled down to her bum, and he used his long fingers to gradually creep down and edge up her skirt, and Hermione smiled as he kissed her, knowing what he would find, knowing what secret she had planned for him.

As his palm made contact with a handful of bare bottom, he jolted out of the kiss, pulling back and looking at her incredulously.

"Where is your underwear, Granger?" he asked, his voice ragged from their excessive snogging.

"I seem to remember that you prefer my knickers in my drawer, rather than on my body," she replied, smiling up at him.

The expression of pure but pained desire upon his face was a sight to behold.

"Are you trying to fucking kill me?"

Snape backed her against her wall, only a short step behind her, before grabbing her right hand and drawing it to his crotch, muttering a spell to unfasten the lower buttons of his long coat so that her palm was held against his clearly defined erection, and he rubbed her hand roughly against it.

"Do you feel how hard that is, girl? Do you realise what you are fucking doing to me?"

Hermione squeezed him through his trousers as he held her hand tightly against him, and he growled, loudly. Snape drew her other hand forwards.

"Get my cock out. Release me … now. I want you. And since you are walking about Hogwarts bare-arsed, I presume you want the same."

He didn't have to ask twice. She began to fumble with his belt, managing to unfasten the solid metal and release the buckle. As she began on the trouser button, Hermione heard him groan, and looked up to see Snape running his hands roughly through his long black hair. She moved faster, unhooking the waistband and sliding the zip down, allowing the tailored trousers to fall to the floor, pooling around his ankles.

"And the rest," he enunciated, quietly, returning her hands to his groin, where only the material of his undershorts was between his penis and her touch.

Trailing a finger down the hard length of his erection, Hermione was gratified to hear Snape's sharp intake of breath.

"I said … and the rest," he warned, and the commanding tone of his voice was as erotic as hell.

She took hold of the waistband of the shorts, black, of course, and slid them down over his bum cheeks, pulling the front out a bit so that she could hook it over his penis, which was standing tall and proud. Her eyes must have widened, or she must have made some noise of concern at the sight of it, for Hermione heard him chuckling, softly.

"It's already been inside you, Granger. It fits."

Dropping the undershorts so that they slipped down his legs to join the trousers, she looked up at him.

"Hermione," she reminded him, placing a tentative hand on him, and stroking gently, surprised at how velvety-soft the skin of his knob was, and how bloody solid it felt underneath.

She watched his eyes darken, visible even in the dim light of the alcove, which was lit only by a miniscule window that allowed the moonlight to shine in.

"Hermione," he repeated, leaning forwards and dropping his mouth to her neck, beginning a sucking, wet kiss, that he paused to continue speaking. "Fucking hell, Hermione. Open your legs, girl. Let me inside that hot cunt that you have left uncovered for me."

Somehow, his crude choice of words only served to heighten her arousal. He did not use these words in any other discourse, only with her, only to her. Snape lifted her up, pressing her spine against the wall, and she opened her legs, as she had been bidden. With a bit of fumbling, he managed to get the end of his penis inside her, and she wriggled down onto it, allowing his hardness to fill her up, and wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, over his coat but under his cloak.

His long, drawn-out moan of pleasure told Hermione that she had seated herself in the correct place. He was very deeply inside her, and she began to undulate her hips, feeling the tip of his knob brushing deliciously against a very sweet spot as she moved.

"You are fucking me, little witch," he whispered, hoarsely, beginning to push back against her, with jolting thrusts that pressed her harder into the wall with each stroke.

"I have wanted to do this since you left my bed, earlier this week," she told him, honestly, her breaths short and shallow.

"I watch you in class, Hermione. I watch you … and I try to … teach you, but all I think about is … fucking you."

His speech was fragmented, disjointed - fitted around the efforts of his thrusting.

"Then it's a good job that I am an excellent student."

She smiled, and was certain that he had shown at least a tentative smile in return, but he gave a dark laugh and returned his attentions to her neck, his shoulders hunched over as he sucked and licked the sensitive skin there, his long cloak enveloping their coupling bodies entirely. Hermione tightened her legs around his waist, pressing her feet against his bum, making him thrust faster, and harder, and his movements became heavier, and less controlled.

"Damn you, witch," he hissed, as he bared his teeth and pumped hard into her, his fingers clenching her bum cheeks so hard that Hermione had no doubt she would be bruised in the morning.

He moved her against him, slamming into her a final few times before gasping out his orgasm, and his hips were frenzied as he emptied his load inside her, gulping for air and holding her bottom tightly in his hands. Beginning to shake a little, he drew his penis out and lowered her the short distance to the floor, where Hermione found that her legs were as shaky as her professor's, and sank to the cool stone, uncaring of the fluid that was dripping from her.

Snape remained standing, looming above her, darkly, his trousers down and dick still exposed, red from the sex, and wet.

"Show me," he demanded.

She looked up at him, confused, and he knelt down in front of her, taking hold of her knees and pushing them apart. Hermione was too floppy to resist, not that she wanted to. He pushed up her skirt, so that he could see her genitals splayed open, and she jumped with a fizz of pleasure as he ran his fingers down her exposed pussy.

"That is what I wanted to see," he told her, his voice thick with desire. "My essence spilling from your sweet hole. Allow me?"

Hermione nodded, not quite sure what she was allowing, but whatever it was, she definitely wanted it. He tickled his fingers around her open pussy, dabbling in the wetness, spreading her juices around her labia, trailing over her clitoris.

"Do you want to come?" he asked, beginning to stroke his thumb firmly across it, and she could only gasp in reply, as being made love to so deeply had sent her almost to the edge already, and it felt like her whole pussy was twitching as he played with her.

"I see that you do. It will be my pleasure. Close your eyes."

Hermione ignored the last part of the instruction, as the sight of the dark professor kneeling before her, his long black hair hanging either side of his face as he bent forwards to focus entirely on his task, was incredibly arousing. Snape's hand was so large that it covered her fully, allowing him to touch all her most sensitive parts, teasing her closer and closer to her own orgasm. He must be one of those rare wizards who never left his witch unsatisfied.

She wanted to know more about him. She wanted to talk to him, to drink tea together, to be the friend that she suspected he'd been missing thus far in his life. But it was so difficult to focus when his surprisingly skilled fingers were persistently exciting her clitoris.

"You are close. I can feel you."

He wasn't wrong, and he played her body expertly. Either he was an incredibly quick study, or he hadn't been entirely honest about his previous experience. However, at this precise moment in time, Hermione didn't much care. With a deep circling of his thumb around her clit, she felt herself climb to her peak, tense, and then that blissful release that had her writhing her hips against his still-masturbating fingers, sighing gently and making the most unlikely noises.

"Good?"

"Oh yes," she confirmed, looking at him with what must be embarrassingly lust-glazed eyes. "Thank you, Sir."

"Severus," he reminded her, drawing his wand and trailing a cleansing charm over her nether regions that felt rather like bubbles.

"Can I clean you, Severus?" she asked, sitting up and crossing her legs.

Snape stood up, and Hermione heard the crack of either his spine or one of his joints as he did so. He hadn't answered her, but since he was standing there with his dick hanging out, she presumed it would be acceptable to do so.

She knelt up, and was face to face with his penis, albeit mostly flaccid, for the first time. Having been about to draw her wand and apply a gentle Tergeo, Hermione suddenly had a much better idea. Leaning forwards, and before Snape could say anything to stop her, she lifted him into her mouth, running her lips slowly down the soft shaft and licking the surface with her tongue as she did so.

The swear words that tumbled from his mouth were both colourful and creative, and he was lucky she didn't laugh around his dick. She dragged her mouth and tongue back up, and off the end. He tasted … like nothing she'd ever tasted before; and supposed it must be a mixture of his come, and of her own juices. Hermione stood up, faced him, and that damn eyebrow was raised, again.

"I had expected a Tergeo."

"Well, you got that, instead."

"That … was entirely more pleasant."

"I'm glad to hear it … Severus."

He reached down and pulled up his trousers and undershorts in one swift movement, tucking himself away and fastening everything back up again.

"Perhaps, Hermione, I could entreat you to do that again, on another occasion? Perhaps at a time when my cock is more appreciative of the attention your mouth is paying to it?"

She didn't answer, for she didn't need to. He was already dipping his head towards her, catching her mouth in that inimitable way he did, his kisses assertive and demanding, and Hermione loved it, allowing him to take control for them both. His tongue pressed against hers, goading it, swirling around it, and it wasn't long before his hands slipped back to her bum, lifting her skirt and reminding himself of what lay bared beneath.

"Oh, Hermione," he muttered, breaking the kiss and drawing her towards him, his large hands massaging her naked arse. "You teasing bloody witch. You know not what you do to me."

"I think I have a vague idea," she replied, cheekily, snuggling into his embrace.

"You know too much, girl. Perhaps I should deduct some Gryffindor housepoints for your breaking of the school curfew."

"Not funny."

"It isn't meant to be funny, Miss Granger. You have flouted several school rules tonight. Including, I should add, your incomplete uniform, which I find most delightful."

Hermione leaned back so that she could see his face, so different from the expressionless mask that he wore in the classroom and about the school.

"I'll settle for being escorted back to the guest corridor in disgrace at my behaviour."

"Are you attempting strike a bargain with me, witch?"

"Is it working?"

"I am unaccustomed to playfulness, Hermione."

"I know. But I'll teach you. If you'll let me, of course."

He fell silent, and removed his hands from up the back of her school uniform skirt, allowing it to drop back into place. Snape regarded her, seriously.

"Tomorrow is Friday," he announced, after a long pause.

"It is."

"Will you come to my chambers tomorrow evening? After curfew."

"I'd love to. But, Severus, I'd also like to talk to you."

His face fell.

"You do not wish to be intimate with me?"

Hermione took hold of his hands. For all his austere demeanour, he was insecure and inexperienced in human emotion, it seemed.

"Of course I want to be intimate with you. Merlin, the things we do together make my head spin. But I don't want our intimacy to be just sexual."

"I do not understand."

"I want to talk, Severus. I want to get to know you, to be comfortable with you."

"I am not one for small talk, Hermione Granger."

She leant up on tiptoes; and placed a chaste but lingering kiss on his lips.

"Neither am I. I tend to just talk at people. If we get stuck for conversation, perhaps I'll help myself from your wonderful bookcase and we can just curl up on your sofa and read together."

Hermione could have sworn that he breathed a sigh of relief, and even smiled a little.

"Very well then. Now, allow me to escort the miscreant back to the guest corridor."

"With no loss of points?"

"I think on this occasion we can forego point deduction."

She grinned at him, and he guided them both back through the enchanted tapestry and into the corridor. It was unlikely they would run into anyone, but just to be safe, Hermione walked a couple of paces behind him, her face schooled into an unhappy grimace at being supposedly caught out after curfew. It was a shame she couldn't see the shape of his arse under the billow of his voluminous cloak.

Tomorrow night could not come soon enough, and as they approached the guest corridor where all the eighth-years' rooms were situated, Hermione silently wondered just how fucking long the school day was going to seem, before curfew came around again.

He turned around; and indicated with a terse wave of his hand that she should proceed to her room, since they were now at the end of her corridor. Hermione couldn't help but linger, and, against what seemed to be his better judgement, he lowered his head and planted the lightest kiss on her lips.

"Go," he hissed, turning on his heel and stalking away, and within seconds he was out of sight.

Hermione walked down the corridor and into her bedchamber, locking the door behind her.

Neither of them had seen the cloaked figure, hidden in the shadows.


	13. Chapter 13

Still able to feel Professor Snape's final, unexpected kiss on her lips, Hermione walked quickly and quietly down the guest corridor until she reached her room. Just as she was about to open the door, Hermione was surprised to see her neighbour, Neville's, door spring open, and the tall boy himself appear with one arm on the doorframe, and the other firmly around the waist of one Hannah Abbott, whose mouth he was devouring as if his very survival depended on it.

"Woah!" she gasped, attempting to muffle her startled noise as soon as it escaped her mouth, and the snogging pair jumped apart in shock.

"Hermione!" began Neville, pushing a hand roughly through his messy hair. "We … um, I mean, Hannah and I …we were just …"

Hermione held up her hands to stop her friend before he started.

"It's absolutely fine, you have nothing to explain. You just startled me, that's all. I was sneaking back from the library after curfew and thought I'd managed it undisturbed. Thank Merlin it was just you two."

Both Neville and Hannah visibly slumped their shoulders in relief.

"Not that it is one bit my business, but it makes me very happy to see the two of you together," she continued, smiling at them, for they were both still beetroot-red and clearly embarrassed at being caught spending the evening together in Neville's bedchamber.

"Thanks Hermione," replied Hannah, warmly. "But I really should be getting back to my room, that's why we'd opened the door, you know … for me to leave."

"Don't let me disturb you any more than I have. I'm going to bed, immediately," Hermione said, firmly, not wanting to intrude any further on their private moment.

Nodding at her friends, she disappeared into her own room, closing the door firmly behind her and sinking down into her desk chair with relief. Had Neville and Hannah opened the bedroom door just thirty seconds earlier, they would likely have seen her being kissed gently goodnight at the end of the corridor by Professor Snape, and that discovery didn't bear thinking about. He had been reckless to do it, but she had been equally as reckless to have allowed it, however welcome it was.

They must not allow their urgent desire to get in the way of common sense, or they would both be unceremoniously removed from the school, and even though Snape had professed not to care, Hermione was sure that the loss of his employment would be just as devastating for him, as being expelled would be for her.

As for their other activities this evening, and a slow smile crept unbidden across her face at the memory, they had fully concealed themselves in the conjured alcove behind the tapestry, and it was only a moment of aberration in the final seconds that could have exposed them.

This was a dangerous game to play, and Hermione wished she didn't love it as much as she did, but the truth was, she wanted to play. The excitement, and the thrill of the forbidden, made her feel alive, made her barely remember the ghost girl that she had been when she'd first returned to Hogwarts.

She was as addicted to Severus Snape as surely as if she'd been gazing upon him in the Mirror of Erised. Thank Merlin he was not a reflection.

-xxx-

Draco took the seat next to her in Transfiguration class the following day, prompting Professor Briner to make a snide remark that he hoped the two of them would behave better than the last time he had 'permitted' them to sit together. Pansy Parkinson had also been thoroughly unimpressed, shooting daggers at Draco from the usual desk that they shared, especially when Susan Bones had entered the classroom late, and taken the only seat that was left, the one next to Pansy.

"Shall we see what Professor Sleaze is up to, today?" hissed Draco, covering his thigh, lest Hermione attempt to jab him with the sharp end of her quill again.

Nothing seemed untoward, apart from the frankly substandard teaching that the NEWT students were being forced to accept. Whether McGonagall was simply brilliant, rather than Briner being sub-par, Hermione had yet to ascertain. They were still working on animal transfigurations, and half the class were woefully behind.

Thinking that Draco was being insufferably smug, as the bell rang for the end of the lesson, which had passed without incident, Hermione turned to shoot him a look that said, 'Look, see? Nothing happened.'

"Stay behind, please Miss Abbott," Briner called, as the class began to get to their feet, gathering their books.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I don't have spare time, tonight," Hannah replied, in a quavering voice that was actually rather bold, for her.

An aggrieved look flitted briefly across the new Transfiguration professor's face.

"No time? Ah, I see Miss Abbott. It is Friday night, no doubt you have a romantic assignation of some kind? Very well. I shall just have to cope alone."

Hannah's face blazed with embarrassment, for Hermione guessed she was indeed planning on spending the evening with Neville, not that it was any of Richard Briner's business.

"That's not fair, Sir!" Hermione cried out, indignant with rage on the gentle girl's behalf. "You can't ask students about their private relationships, that's highly inappropriate."

His eyes widened at being lambasted by an outspoken pupil, but before he could say anything, Malfoy joined the verbal fray.

"Granger is right," he drawled, lazily. "Evenings are our free time, and if Abbott has other plans that mean she's unable to assist you, that doesn't give you the right to bully her about it. Back off."

Professor Briner regarded them both with narrowed eyes that were starting to look weaselly and untrustworthy.

"Detention, both of you. Tomorrow night, here in this classroom. I shall limit some of that free time you cherish so deeply. How dare either of you address me in such a manner?"

Neither Hermione nor Draco replied, lest the punishment increase, but were both fuming at being treated like children, and the teacher took advantage of their silence to goad them further.

"What a shame. Our two lovebirds detained on a Saturday evening, when no doubt they would rather be breaking school rules in hidden corners, instead."

Ginny jumped to her feet, her face flushing with anger on Hermione's behalf.

"I agree with them! For your information Hermione and Draco are not even together, so I don't know why you persist in hinting that they are, and it's none of your business if Hannah is seeing someone. For a professor to talk this way about students is disgusting, especially since we are all adults, and entitled to our own private lives!"

Briner swivelled his eyes towards the fiery young witch, as if assessing how much of a threat she posed to him.

"You will now be joining the friends whom you have so courageously defended, in detention tomorrow night, Miss Weasley," he remarked, coolly. "Now I suggest you all leave my classroom before you make things worse for yourselves."

Everyone began to pull their bags from the desktop and troop towards the door of the Transfiguration classroom, not wishing to invite further punishment. Briner rolled his eyes at Hannah in disdain, but she stood her ground, meeting his eye, expressionless, and then pointedly heading towards the door. The professor turned his gaze upon Susan, instead.

"Miss Bones, you will stay behind and assist me?"

It was a challenge, and one that Hermione knew Susan would find very difficult to resist, knowing how she felt about Professor Briner. It seemed that he also was aware of her crush; and was clearly exploiting it to create friction between her and her best friend. Both Hermione and Hannah looked at Susan, who, rather than looking torn, instead seemed rather pleased.

"Yes Sir," Susan replied, meekly. "Yes. I'll stay. That's fine."

Hannah made a quiet noise of disapproval; and stalked from the room. A few stragglers still remained, observing the strange situation. Susan left her bag on the desk and approached the front of the classroom, where Professor Briner stood on the teaching platform, as if standing in solidarity with him.

"Class is still dismissed," he announced. "I am not sure why you are all still standing here in my classroom?"

His face was full of such gloating self-satisfaction that it caused Hermione to pause, and Draco had to guide her out of the room by her elbow.

"What on earth was that?" she said, angrily, once they were safely in the hubbub of the busy corridor.

"That was the sleazy git making his move," Malfoy replied, coolly. "I've been waiting for it all week. Why do you think I sat next to you? I was convinced something would happen today and I thought you might appreciate a commentary."

"Whatever it was, its landed us both in detention."

Draco gave her maddening, confident smirk.

"And did you notice that the detention was scheduled for tomorrow, rather than tonight?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Clearly, Briner has … other plans for this evening, that would have been scuppered by supervising detention."

"What's going on?"

It was Ginny, joining their conversation, and Hannah had moved closer, too, in a small huddle outside the closed door of Professor Briner's classroom as the passing crowds began to draw away and there were only a few of them left, who were all hanging around to see just what might happen next.

"Draco believes that Richard Briner is not to be trusted," Hermione told her.

"I agree with him," Hannah cut in. "He makes me feel quite uncomfortable."

Neville arrived just as she spoke, his long legs must have carried him quickly and easily from the greenhouses in order to meet Hannah from Transfiguration, especially since they had been dawdling, and were now gossiping in the corridor.

"Same thing?" he asked Hannah.

She nodded; and it was clear that Neville and Hannah must have discussed the matter between themselves, previously.

"What's happened now?"

"I'll tell you this evening, Neville. Please, let's just get away from here and head for supper."

There were still a few students that had just left Briner's classroom also, loitering in the corridor alongside them. Suddenly, a voice rang out.

"Astoria! What are you doing here?"

It was Daphne Greengrass, a Slytherin in Ginny's year, tall and tough-looking, and she was approaching a small blonde girl, also in Slytherin robes, who had arrived in the corridor, presumably from her own last lesson of the day, and was pushing open the door of the Transfiguration classroom.

The girl jumped, and turned to faced Daphne, the door held open behind her.

"Daphne! Oh, I didn't know you'd still be here. I'm doing some extra work for Professor Briner tonight. He asked me earlier, and I agreed to help."

"Like fuck you are, little sister, after what I've just seen and heard. Get away from there; and go down to the Great Hall for your dinner."

Briner materialised at the door of the classroom, Susan hovering behind him looking pissed off, and he was visibly blanching at the number of his students that were still crammed into the hallway outside.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Greengrass? What was that filth I just heard from your lips?"

"I told Astoria that she wasn't to stay and help you. She's only a fifth-former, Briner, not even sixteen until December! What kind of fucking pervert are you?"

Even Draco seemed surprised at Daphne's daring, and gave a low whistle of shock, or it could have been admiration. Briner tutted, in a maddeningly condescending manner.

"Well, well. It seems that you too, Miss Greengrass, will be joining Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, and Mr Malfoy in detention tomorrow evening. We shall be quite a crowd. Remove yourselves, all of you, immediately."

He turned to the younger girl, smiling sycophantically.

"Miss Greengrass. Thank you for remembering my request for assistance, however, I have all the help I need in the form of Miss Bones. Do enjoy your dinner."

"Am I not in detention too, Sir?" Astoria asked.

"Why, of course not! You have done nothing wrong."

Astoria seemed to consider this for a second, looking around at the angry and concerned faces of her older sister and the throng around her.

"It seems like you're a bit of a dirty old fucker, Professor. The next time your hand accidentally touches my boob when you're demonstrating the correct wand movements, I'll hex it off. And if that girl behind you has any sense, she'll run screaming from your classroom before you have a chance to do the same to her. Don't ask me to help you after hours again, I could be halfway through my roast chicken by now, if I hadn't had to come up here on a fool's errand."

Once again, the corridor fell silent, gawping at this little fifth-year who'd just given the angry wizard what-for.

"Will that be enough to get an invite to the detention party, Sir?" Astoria said, in a mock-innocent voice.

"More than adequate, Miss Greengrass," Briner hissed, "and I'll have ten points from Slytherin, in addition, for your disgusting mouth."

"Completely worth it," Astoria shot back, not missing a beat. "I'll see you tomorrow evening, Sir, what a jolly group we shall all be."

And with that, she swung her bag over her shoulder and sauntered down the corridor, with her older sister in pursuit, firing questions at the younger girl. Briner viciously slammed the door of his classroom with a dull thud of finality, and Hermione heard the heavy bolt slide across, locking himself and Susan inside. The gaggle of onlookers began to disperse, Neville putting his arm around Hannah to guide her away, and Ginny catching up with her friends, leaving only herself and Draco in the hallway. His face was an absolute picture of total shock, and sheer admiration.

"Draco?"

"I love her."

Hermione laughed.

"Astoria Greengrass? I thought you might. Fiery little thing, wasn't she? She should have been a Gryffindor with that display of suicidal bravery."

"Sixteen at Christmas, did Daphne say? Damn, that's months away."

"Aren't you seeing Pansy Parkinson?"

"For now," he retorted. "With the younger Greengrass having a mouth, looks and body like that, I may have to rethink."

"You are a nightmare, Draco Malfoy."

"How would you know, Granger?" he teased, quirking an eyebrow and finally starting to walk away down the corridor.

Hermione followed him, hoping he was heading for the Great Hall since she was bloody starving, and rather enjoying the witty repartee with the unusual Slytherin who now appeared to be her new friend.

-xxx-

She arrived in the Great Hall for supper, and Draco melted away without a word, towards the Slytherin table. Neville was in their usual place at the very end of the Gryffindor table, and unusually, Hannah was seated with him.

"Ernie's sitting with the Ravenclaws," she explained, cocking her head towards the blue table, "so I didn't think anyone would complain if I sat here for tonight. Obviously, Susan's not here."

Hannah looked most unhappy as she said this. Hermione sat down, and her dinner appeared in front of her, the roast chicken looking fantastic. A discreet glance to the teachers' table gave her the slightest flash of jet black, indicating that Snape was taking his supper in the Great Hall, also.

"Hannah's been filling me in on what happened in Transfiguration," said Neville, already eating. "I know Briner's been a problem for the last week or so. I've told her she needs to go to McGonagall about it, but she won't."

"I don't want to make a fuss, Neville!"

"You wouldn't be making a fuss," Hermione reassured. "If Briner is truly a predator, then the Headmistress should know about it."

"I don't even know that," replied Hannah. "He's never touched me, or even said anything suggestive, he just makes me feel … really uncomfortable, I suppose."

"Did you hear what that Astoria girl just said, though?" asked Neville. "She said he touched her."

"It might not be true. She may have just been shouting her mouth off to get herself into detention with us, although Merlin knows why," Hermione told him. "If he had touched her, she'd be the type to report it immediately, wouldn't you think?"

"She certainly wasn't shy, was she?" Hannah observed, wryly.

They all smiled at the memory of the small, blonde Slytherin witch, letting the surprised professor have a mouthful. It had actually been rather impressive. No wonder Draco Malfoy had declared himself in love.

"I'm worried about Susan, though," Hannah continued. "Hermione, she, um …"

"I know. She told me. The other night, when the two of you had quarrelled. Susan told me that she had a crush on the professor."

Hannah breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank goodness. I told Neville, and I knew he wouldn't have told a soul," she replied, looking at her new boyfriend with admiring eyes that Hermione loved, seeing Neville regarded in such a manner. "I just don't believe she's thinking clearly. I've told her that I don't trust Briner, and Susan's response is that I'm just trying to dissuade her from going after him. She, um … well this bit is embarrassing …"

"Just tell her," Neville prodded, gently.

"Susan thinks that Briner fancies me over her," Hannah said, quickly, blushing. "She's jealous."

"I think that's probably true," Hermione replied. "Perhaps asking Susan to stay, after you'd declined, was some pathetic attempt to cause trouble between the two of you. Briner is a grown wizard, he can probably see that Susan fancies him."

"I'm worried he'll take advantage of her."

"If he does, McGonagall will have him out on his ear," Neville said, firmly.

"She certainly will. But, unless something happens, and either someone catches them, or Susan makes a complaint, there's nothing we can do. It sounds awful, but Susan is of age, we all are. She needs to be free to make her own mistakes."

Hannah sighed, looking resigned but unhappy.

"Are you two seeing each other tonight?" Hermione asked, keen for a subject change.

Both the quiet Hufflepuff and the shy Gryffindor smiled, a red blush creeping to both their cheeks. It really was quite endearing.

"I'll take that as a yes," she grinned. "Have a wonderful evening. I intend to stay up very late reading a novel that Madam Pince has recommended to me, and then sleep very late into the morning. Goodness, I love weekends."

"Ordering breakfast through the Floo again?" Hannah asked.

"And lunch too, if I can get away with it."

"We promise not to come knocking on your bedroom door and disturbing you with offers of Quidditch watching or lunch alerts, then," reassured Neville, grinning broadly.

Hermione returned his cheeky smile with one of her own.

That was everything covered, then. She would lock her bedroom door; and have a cast-iron alibi for not leaving her chambers until after lunch the following day. Her stomach jumped in anticipation just thinking about it.

-xxx-

Later that night, after curfew had passed, Hermione stepped through the Floo connection between their rooms, taking Snape's offered hand as she stepped over the grate and into his living room. He did not let go of her hand, and instead pulled her towards him with one smooth tug, towering over her, and bringing his hands to her face, tilting her chin to look up at him, and thumbing her cheeks gently, as he looked down at her.

"My god, girl, I cannot get enough of you."

With that as his only greeting, Snape bent his head and kissed her, once, then twice on the lips, pausing only long enough to push one hand into her hair and cup the back of her head, and to wrap the other arm around her waist, before sliding his eager tongue into her mouth, making a pleasured noise as he did so, a sound of desire, and of relief. Hermione recognised it for what it was, for she felt the same. It felt so good to be pressed against him, snogging this grown wizard as if there was nothing and nobody else in the world.

As he circled her tongue with his, causing her stomach to flip-flop with excitement, Hermione reached up and unfastened the clasp of his teaching robe, pushing it off his shoulders, and the familiar black garment fell to the floor. He pulled back and raised that eyebrow of his.

"You would strip me, witch?"

"If you would let me."

He took a sharp intake of breath, and then leant forwards, insinuating his large nose through her messy curls, making a path to her ear, where he pressed his lips close to the sensitive shell, so that Hermione could feel his hot breath tickling there.

"Oh, I will let you. Believe me."

Stepping back from her, Snape flipped his wand neatly out from his sleeve, and cast a Divesto upon his long frock coat, the many buttons unfastening themselves, and the coat flying across the room to hang itself on the coat stand.

"That garment would have taken hours for you to remove manually. From this point, I am all yours. Should you … desire me."

His eyes were flashing dangerously black, endless pools of ink that she wanted to swim naked in. He was so inherently sexual, it just flooded out of him in waves. And yet, this prize appeared to be all hers to enjoy. Oh yes, she desired him. And he knew it.

Hermione ran her hands up the front of his white shirt, and he watched every inch that they travelled with great interest. Reaching the cravat that he wore at his neck, she untied it, disassembling the complicated knot and once it was released, pulling on one end so that it slithered torturously slowly through his collar, and she dropped it to join his cloak on the floor.

Unfastening his collar button, and the two below it, she lifted her hand to his scarred neck, trailing her fingertips softly across the snake-bite scar, treating the neglected skin there to her touch and attention.

"I know you desired to talk," he began, his voice low and a little hoarse. "But I do not think I can, without taking you to my bed, first."

"I haven't talked much yet, have I?"

"How unusual for you," he remarked, smirking, taking her hand and tugging her lightly, guiding her to his bedchamber, where she had once spent the night, and the bathroom where they had once showered together.

As they entered the room, he set the fire to burn higher, giving the chilly room both heat, and a flickering, golden light, that was as alive as she felt. He then placed his wand on the bedside cabinet. Hermione drew her own, and laid it next to his, and it felt like an extraordinarily trusting gesture, on both their parts.

He then swooped in towards her, grasping the hem of her t-shirt and pulling it up and over her head, throwing it to the floor. Perhaps he wasn't to be trusted after all, she thought, with a smile. Snape sat down on the edge of the bed, drawing her to stand before him, running his hands over her stomach and waist, leaning forward to kiss the bared skin there. Hermione felt herself flinch, with both surprise and pleasure.

She placed her hands on his dark head that was bent before her, playing with his long, fine hair and drawing a gratified moan from him as she did so. Still kissing her flat belly, he fumbled with the fastening of her jeans, undoing them and pulling them down her legs with some difficulty.

"Always with the tight jeans, Granger," he complained, trailing his hands down her legs in order to take the trousers right to her ankles, holding the material steady so that she could step out of them, and he nudged them out of her way with his foot.

Allowing her to stand before him, he gazed at her, his eyes drinking their fill of her body in its charcoal grey knickers and bra, and Hermione was again grateful for her new penchant for matching underwear. Everything she'd worn previously would just have been an embarrassment in a situation like this. As it was, the grey satin and lace made her look like a grown woman, rather than a girl.

"You are exquisite", he stated, trailing his fingertips over her cleavage, pushed up slightly in the well-fitted brassiere.

"Thank you, Severus."

The use of his name grabbed his attention, and he jerked his head upwards, meeting her eyes with his endless black ones that she couldn't get enough of.

"Hermione …"

She reached forwards; and began to unfasten the rest of the small buttons on his shirt, enjoying his large hands roving over her bottom as she did so; the firm, grasping movements making her feel desired, feel like an attractive woman, not a gauche schoolgirl.

When she reached the final button, he allowed her to push the white cotton from his shoulders, and Hermione stroked the pale skin there as she did so, following the shirt's path down his arms, before he lifted his arms to remove it. He handed her the removed shirt, raising his eyebrow as if in challenge. Not losing eye contact, she took it, and threw it meaningfully onto the pile of her own discarded clothing.

"Stand up," she instructed, and he complied without question, which was a novel experience.

Remembering how she had relieved him of his trousers the previous evening behind the tapestry, Hermione easily opened the buckle of his belt, and the button and zip of his trousers, but rather than letting them drop, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his undershorts, taking them down along with the trousers in one movement, and Snape stepped out of them both.

"Efficient, Miss Granger," he remarked, standing naked before her.

She ran her hands over his chest, reacquainting herself with the lean hardness of his muscle, the sparse black hair, and the ridged scars that were to be found every few inches, pinked and ropey on his white skin, arranged in irregular patterns. He held himself tense, but nonetheless placed his arms to his sides so that she could explore his body.

"Are you ashamed of your body, Severus?" she asked, quietly, as she continued to touch him, stroking her hand down his arms, feeling his strong biceps before reaching the dark hair on his forearms.

He swallowed hard.

"It is nothing to be proud of … Hermione. I am old, and battle scarred," he replied, quietly and deeply.

"Turn around."

When he did so, she ran her hands across his back, and there were a few scars there, too. Hermione placed her lips on his shoulder blade, kissing and licking her way across to the other one, hearing his tremulous sigh of pleasure. She allowed her bare stomach to touch the skin of his spine; and ran her hands up his arms to his shoulders and massaged there.

"Merlin, girl, you are too much. The attention you show me."

He whirled around and sat back down on the bed, his erection standing up proudly, and pulled her towards him, taking hold of her knickers and edging them quickly down her legs, allowing her to step out of them and flick them away. Holding firmly to one of her hips, he pushed his spare hand between her legs, rubbing her crotch with his flat palm, looking up as if to gauge her consent and approval. It was all she could do to stop her eyes fluttering closed with the strength of feeling that jolted through her, but there was nothing more erotic than gazing into the black eyes of this powerful, and still slightly terrifying wizard.

Snape began to edge her thighs further apart, allowing him better access to her most private parts, and Hermione felt a long finger sink inside her, and a thumb start to agitate her clitoris. She must have sighed, because an intense expression took over his face.

"Does that feel good, Hermione? Tell me. Tell me that I excite you, that I know how to pleasure you. I must know."

He flickered his thumb more firmly over her clit; and smirked as she let out another moan.

"It feels so good," she admitted, honestly. "I can't believe how good it feels to have you touching me like that."

She heard a whisper that was definitely 'fucking hell.'

"Remove your brassiere. Please."

He kept up his movements between her legs as she complied, and then slid his hand around to the small of her back as she dispensed with the bra, pulling her body towards him so he could capture one in his mouth, sucking her nipple and much of her breast into his mouth as he continued to masturbate her. The feel of him doing that, as well as flickering his tongue over her nipple like a fast-flying quill, was, quite literally, fucking amazing. And Hermione Granger very rarely swore.

"Stop."

Snape stopped immediately at her words, removing his hands and mouth from her, and looking up in concern. Hermione stepped towards him, wrapping her arms around his naked shoulders.

"We have all night, for a change. There's no rush. What I'd like to do, is give you … you know … oral pleasure."

A slow, devastatingly sexy smile spread across his face.

"You want to suck my cock?"

She grinned.

"Yours words, not mine."

"I couldn't care less how you describe it, girl, so long as you are doing it."

He stood up, cradling her in his arms, and waved his hand vaguely over the bed, causing the covers to fold themselves down to the foot, leaving an invitingly fresh bed to tumble into.

"Lay down," she instructed, the irony of telling Professor Snape what to do, not lost on her.

Hermione crawled on the bed, her pale-skinned lover laying flat on his back, his penis long and hard, pointing upwards, towards his stomach. He watched her intently, waiting for her next move, and he took hold of himself, beginning a slow slide up and down the shaft, as if priming himself for her mouth. She was nervous, but she wanted to do this. There was nothing to be scared of, and in fact, the only thing she was concerned about was getting it wrong and not giving him enough pleasure. Nothing else worried her. He would never hurt her.

She leaned forwards; and placed her mouth over the head of his cock as he was touching it, swirling her tongue around the bulbous tip, which was hard, but yet also soft. Hearing a rumbling moan from him, Hermione slipped her mouth down the shaft a little, just tasting, just feeling.

Just learning.

-xxx-

Holy fucking shit, Severus was getting the first blow job of his entire fucking life.

The girl's soft lips around his cock, her tentative licks and sucks showing her inexperience, the whole situation was fucking amazing.

He didn't care how it ended, whether he came, or whether she just played around, getting herself comfortable – the fact was, a witch had her mouth around his cock, willingly, and nothing else fucking mattered.

It was a lot of internal swearing, but he didn't give a single shit.

Severus could think on how brilliant this girl was, how intelligent, how magically talented, how young, or how beautiful – but the fact still remained she was sucking his cock. He immediately understood why some wizards lost their minds over a love affair.

Right at that moment, he would have promised Hermione Granger the world, the entire fucking world, if only she would keep her mouth moving on his dick.

Removing his hand from the slow wank that he'd begun, allowing her the space to find her rhythm, he put both arms behind his head, on the pillow, feeling like a million fucking Galleons. She placed her own small hand on the base of his cock, pointing it upwards so she could slide her mouth up and down the shaft, and her sucks were feathery soft, for she probably didn't realise she could be a whole lot firmer – he wouldn't break.

Nothing could stop Severus from closing his eyes, squeezing his arse cheeks together, and groaning in pleasured torture. He'd definitely let loose with a few swear words, already. When she slipped her hand down to cup his balls as she continued to suck on him, he thought he might actually explode, but he managed to hold on to his dignity, despite his ball sack actually growing harder as she fondled it.

He didn't know how long it had been going on for. All he knew was that it was fucking bliss.

A lurch in his gut told him that he was crossing the line from highly aroused, into the warning zone of about to come. He wasn't sure if shooting his spunk down her throat would be a very pleasant experience to end her first try at oral sex, so Severus made a quick decision.

Using one hand to gently ease her off his cock, he silenced her queries by rolling her onto her back and climbing atop her, nudging her thighs apart with his knees and lining his desperate erection up with her wet little hole.

"I want to come inside you," he offered, in explanation, pushing forwards into the heat of her tight cunt that he loved so fucking much, beginning to thrust straight away – back and forth, back and forth. There was no way he could hold anything back from this girl.

Something about the trusting, innocent look in her rich brown eyes, and the pinkness of her mouth that had just been wrapped around his worthless cock, made him feel both guilty and mad with lust at the same time. Severus rolled his hips around as he fucked her, noticing that her little gasps and pants were becoming closer together, and that she had a red flush around her chest and neck. Was she …?

He continued to thrust, enjoying every in-stroke and every out-stroke. Her breathing became heavier, and her face was sweaty.

"Fucking hell, girl, are you going to come?"

"I don't know," she answered, with some difficulty. "I think so. It feels … different."

Holy shit.

Driven almost to madness by her admission, Severus grabbed one of her legs and pulled it over his hip and around his waist, opening her pussy up wider so that he could piston inside her.

"Ohhh … I can feel that … deep."

She wasn't making much sense, nor giving him any direction, so he could only go on instinct, and every instinct he had wanted to hold back his own orgasm to see if he could fuck her to her own.

Her little hands were grasping his shoulders, digging her fingers into his flesh, urging him deeper and faster. His long hair was hanging lank from his head, shaking in front of his face with the pace he was thundering into her.

"Yes … yes, just there … oh god …"

If there was anything he'd ever wanted in his whole miserable life, it was to have a witch beneath him, calling yes, yes. Hermione cried out, and then her whole body began to shake, her pussy contracting around his dick like nothing he'd ever felt before. Thrusting through it, Severus roared as his own climax spurted from the end of his cock, feeling as if it were shooting out of a cannon.

"Holy shit!" he shouted, his balls slapping against her arse, completely soaked in the wetness that was spilling from her, a mixture of both her own orgasm and his spunk, no doubt.

He was loving every wet, sweaty, flushed, exhausting moment of it. 

Stroking her hair as she came down from her peak, he loved that she was gasping for breath and swearing profusely. He had done that. He, Severus, the pathetic virgin, the ugly git that no witch would look twice at; had a stunning girl panting and cursing beneath him, having just orgasmed around his cock.

Falling onto the mattress beside her; and spelling a cooling sheet up from the end of the bed to cover their hot bodies, Severus kissed her sweaty face and pushed her hair out of the way, closed his eyes, and slung one arm across her still-heaving stomach.

He wasn't sure he'd ever wipe this enormous smile from his face.

The students and staff would all be fucking terrified.


	14. Chapter 14

Hermione felt the weight of his arm as he slung it across her stomach, which was still rippling with the aftershocks of the orgasm he'd just driven her to. She was still surprised. The end of his penis had somehow touched her so deeply inside, bumping against a spot that when agitated, had pushed her nearer and nearer to climax with every thrust that he'd made. As she'd come, Snape had reached his peak too, and their joint orgasm had been so explosive, but so tender, that she'd felt quite transcendent for a while there – like she was drifting out of her own head.

Falling to her side and breathing deeply, he'd pushed her unruly hair from her sticky forehead, and kissed her cheek before putting his arm across her, drawing her close. She turned to face him, his eyes closed and a healthy pink colour to his pale skin. Hermione didn't want to sleep. She looked at the stern professor, gently sweeping a lock of black hair from his face and finding it sweaty and hot.

He opened one eye; and saw her gazing at him.

"You are not tired?" he asked.

"Yes, I am, but I don't want to sleep."

"That will be the energy of youth. I am exhausted, after that."

"You sleep, then. I'll just lay here, looking at you, thinking about kissing you."

His other eye opened, and he shot her a look that suggested he found her rather tiresome.

"Don't just think about it," he growled.

Hermione put an arm around his neck, and shuffled closer, finding his warm lips and initiating a kiss. His hand was on the curve of her lower back, and she felt him pull her close as he responded to her kiss, moving his lips in a lazy, exhausted fashion. It was incredibly intimate, both naked in bed, still heated from their lovemaking, snogging in a desultory way that required minimal effort from them both.

Snape's hand trailed up her spine, and she shivered.

"Cold?" he enquired, with an arched eyebrow.

"Not at all cold. Your touch made me shiver, that's all."

"In a good way?"

"In a very good way."

He lay on the pillow, facing her with a quizzical expression, long hair splayed around his head, looking raven-dark against the white cotton.

"You are a most unusual witch, Hermione Granger, to desire to be here, like this, with such a man as me."

She began to stroke down his arm, feeling the relaxed muscles under her searching fingertips, and seeing his white skin respond to her touch as small goosepimples visibly formed.

"I've never been particularly conventional."

"I am inordinately relieved to hear it. You have breathed life into this dusty old shell. My days in this castle are infinitely better knowing that we have … whatever it is that we have here."

"I don't think I could even begin to define or categorise what this is, Severus."

"Then let us not even try, Hermione. I am content, and you are content also?"

"I am."

"We shall leave this conversation here, then," he said, with finality, dipping his head to draw up her lips with his own, keen for more kissing, more touching.

"My mother used to say that conversation has no place in the bedroom, that the bed is for sleep or sex, nothing else," she said, after a prolonged period of snogging, not quite sure where that little snippet of information had suddenly sprung from.

"That is an interesting theory. I agree wholeheartedly with the sex and sleep aspect; however, I should have thought that some form of conversation between bedfellows would be necessary, even desirable?"

"She had some funny ideas, and was very open about sex and relationships, when talking to me."

"So I see. But, you used the past tense? Where is your mother now?"

Hermione felt her breath catch. She wasn't sure she was ready to share what she had done to her parents, particularly not in such an emotionally charged situation as this.

"I ensured they were in a place of safety from Voldemort, before Harry, Ron and I set off on our hunt for the Horcruxes. I believe that they would have been a target for attack, especially once it become clear what their daughter was doing. In addition, the parents of Muggle-born witches and wizards were being directly targeted."

The truth was spilling out, unbidden, and Hermione was surprised at her own candour. His dark eyes looked serious as he listened to her.

"The Dark Lord was never able to find your parents," Snape replied, quietly, "and it was not for the want of searching. Whatever you did was entirely effective."

"I moved them to another country, and Obliviated all memory of ever having a daughter from their minds."

Seeing his magically-experienced eyes widen in surprise did not make Hermione feel any better about what she had done. He jerked his head up from the pillow; and propped it on his upturned hand.

"I confess admiration at your use of such a charm, but surely you must realise that an Obliviation is permanent?"

"I know that. It was the best solution I could think of, at the time, and under pressure. I hoped that maybe, one day in the future, that a counter-spell could be found …"

Snape was shaking his head.

"Not by the most powerful sorcerer in the world," he confirmed. "I am sorry, Hermione."

She lay back on the neighbouring pillow, gazing at the canopy above, feeling hot tears prick at the corner of her eyes.

"I shall leave you for a few minutes," he told her, not pushing her to talk further, but hopping neatly out of bed and heading for the living room, creaking the door shut behind him.

Professor Snape, a supremely powerful wizard, had just confirmed her greatest fear – that there really was no way to reverse the strong memory charm that Hermione had cast upon her parents. At the back of her mind, there had always been the smallest hope … but no.

She allowed the tears to fall.

-xxx-

Pushing open the door to the living room, after a while, Hermione saw that Snape was seated on his sofa, still fully naked, smoking a cigarette and with the fire burning high to keep himself warm. She walked over to him, and he looked up at her, his eyes roving from her face to her naked body with a small smile of approval.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked.

"I shan't be if you come and sit with me," he replied, indicating his lap and taking a deep, slow drag of his cigarette.

He was so dangerous, and yet so comforting at the same time. The dichotomy was what drew her to him, like a moth to a flame. Snape watched her intently as she stepped forwards and knelt next to him, straddling his legs and seating herself carefully on his lap, feeling his flaccid penis beneath her.

"That's better," he told her, taking another pull and blowing the smoke away from her, towards the fire. "I feel much warmer now."

Hermione slid her hands behind his neck and under his hair, dropping her head and kissing him, enjoying the sweet smell of the smoke on his breath, and the taste of tobacco on his tongue as he pressed it into her mouth, slowly coiling it around her own in a devastating spiral. As she murmured her approval into his mouth, he pulled back, drawing again on his cigarette, and holding the smoke in his lungs as he flicked the spent butt into the fire.

Exhaling, he took hold of her bum cheeks and began to lift her up, and as she knelt, Hermione felt his erection growing beneath her.

"Can I tempt you?" he enquired, a slight smile crooking just one corner of his mouth.

Could he tempt her? What a stupid question. 

She knelt up high, so that her breasts were level with his mouth, and he took hold of one in each hand, fondling and squeezing them, guiding the nipples towards him so that he could flicker his sharp tongue across each of them. Hermione let her head fall back, feeling her mass of curls tumble down her spine, and her hips began to circle of their own accord, as if they knew what to do, better than she did.

"Fuck, girl, give a wizard some time," Snape muttered, as she writhed in his lap, but it appeared that these were empty words, as he dropped his hands between her legs, and awkwardly, but with eventual success, guided his penis to her opening and folded the swollen head inside her.

Now it was her turn. Hermione slid down his shaft in a similar way to the previous evening, when they'd done it against the wall in the alcove, until she felt him at full hilt within her. His eyes were closed, and he was making a rumbling sound that she presumed was pleasure.

"What now?" she asked, helplessly.

He opened his eyes, and the black pools were full of mischief. Hermione decided she loved that look, on the spot.

"I don't fucking know, do I?" he replied, chuckling darkly. "Let us improvise, since our bodies seem to know their way better than we do."

Snape took hold of her hips; and began moving them in a rolling motion that she soon began to copy, circling her hips and sort of moving them back and forth at the same time.

"Does that work?" she gasped, for the depth of his penetration was making her a little short of breath, and the pressure was incredible.

"Does that work, she asks. Of course it bloody works, Granger. It is damn-near excellent and I implore you not to stop."

Gaining in confidence, Hermione rose up on her knees, feeling his penis slide out a small way, and then lowered herself down on it again, enjoying the look of slack-jawed surprise on the professor's face. She did it again, and once more, each time a little faster, building up a rhythm and feeling him begin to thrust upwards, underneath her.

"Fucking hell," he groaned, clutching hard at her hips and buttocks, grinding her against him, faster and faster. "I'm almost fucking there, already."

She wanted to make him come, all by herself. She wanted to see this powerful wizard fall to pieces below her, to surrender all control to her. Hadn't he said the very same thing to her, that first time he'd accosted her in the corridor?

You want to control, and to be controlled in return. 

He'd known it, even then. Known her even better than she did herself.

"I want you to come for me, Severus," she told him, in a quiet, but commanding, voice.

His eyes widened in sheer surprise at her words, but she continued to writhe against him, her hips moving like lightning, forcing his orgasm closer. She was fucking him, and even the thought of the word, sounded delicious. Snape's hands tightened around her waist, keeping her pressed down, allowing her to rut in his lap like a horny animal, wriggling like mad.

"Fuck!" he shouted, throwing his head back and clenching his teeth brutally with the effort of chasing his climax. "You will get it all, witch."

He let go with a cry of blessed relief, and a shout that sounded like a battle cry as he held her stock-still as his cock spurted his orgasm inside her, three, and then four times.

"You wanted me to come," he grimaced, his mind clearly somewhere else in bliss. "I came for you, my Hermione. I gave it all to you."

Hermione leaned forwards and started a wet, messy kiss, an open-mouthed snog that stretched their jaws to the limit as they attempted to devour one another.

-xxx-

Granger was snogging him as if their lives depended on it. His cock was still pulsing inside her, having shot his load for the second time in less than an hour. He was too fucking old for this, and yet it appeared as if he'd managed rather well indeed. She had just royally fucked him on his own sofa, and if he'd needed a cigarette before, he needed about five, now.

Holy fucking shitballs. 

He was now well and truly done for, with not one bit of energy left in his body.

Well, that last bit was a lie, for he was returning her kiss as enthusiastically as she was kissing him. Before the afterglow deserted him, Severus got to his feet, holding the naked girl up by her bottom, his cock still inside her, and enjoyed her squeak of surprise.

"How can you do that?"

"Superior strength," he replied, arrogantly, having little energy for a more articulate answer, and carried her through to the bedchamber, by which time his exhausted dick had slipped out of her. "Can we actually sleep now? I am a very old wizard, and I fear you may kill me."

"Bathroom first, then sleep," she replied, smiling at him, stealing another kiss and appearing to be not the least bit chastened by his words.

Severus allowed her to use the toilet first, for clearly, she would need to clean up a bit, and he heard the taps running, which confirmed this, although he was absolutely fucking bursting for a piss, himself.

When he returned from pissing out of the most swollen and uncooperative dick he'd ever encountered, Granger was already in his bed, all the covers now over her, wrapped in a kind of insane nest that he urgently wanted to join her in.

"I owe you an orgasm, little witch," he mumbled, as he crept in beside her, and was gratified to feel her youthful, naked body wind itself around his.

He could feel every part of her, from her feet intertwined with his, to her soft, full breasts pressing against his flanks as she rested on his chest and shoulder. How the fuck did he get so lucky, to have this girl in his bed? It was entirely unfathomable, not that he was complaining.

"Who's keeping score?" she replied, her voice already sounding sleepy.

Granger had one hand resting flat on his chest, directly over his heart, which ached with longing not only at her words, but at her very presence, pressed tightly against his side.

My Hermione, he had called her, in the throes of passion.

He hoped she hadn't noticed, even though the memory of those two words were fast imprinting themselves upon his brain.

-xxx-

Morning arrived, and it was not the grey light of early dawn that Severus was accustomed to waking at; for his dreams, or more correctly, his nightmares, did not allow him restful sleep for long. Instead, on this day, it was the golden light of mid-morning that woke him, for it seemed they had both slumbered peacefully through the weekend breakfast bell.

The girl's naked back was against his chest, her arse pressed into his morning wood (how he could have an erection after the night of sexual activity they'd engaged in, Severus had no idea, but, there it was) although her abundant hair was threatening to choke the life from him.

Tucking the curls between his cheek and the pillow, he allowed his hand to explore what lay directly beneath it, finding a warm, full pair of tits just urging him to fondle them, and he did so, feeling no guilt as he gently squeezed them, thumbing her nipples and planting kisses on her exposed neck.

She made a sound of awakening, and he continued, grinding his cock against her bum to leave her in no doubt of his intentions for her. His attack on her neck became wetter and harder, and Severus heard himself making soft groans into her skin as he did so.

"Good morning," she murmured, putting her arm behind her head to draw him closer, which had the dual benefit of confirming his attentions were welcomed, and gave him greater space to continue playing with her enticing breasts.

"I apologise for the intrusion," he replied, gruffly, his lips still against her neck, "but you were entirely too tempting, naked in my bed."

Severus slid his hand down her flank and lifted her leg at the knee, curling it back across his own thigh; the movement opening up her pussy and he wasted no time in dipping between her spread labia. He enjoyed her little cry of surprise, and the small mewling noise that she started to make as he began to circle two fingers around her clitoris, wanting to arouse her, wanting her to feel as fucking horny as he did.

He was not to be disappointed. Sinking his middle finger deep inside her, he could feel her juices beginning to flow already, and he drew some out to spread around her cunt, making her wet and sticky, and he rolled her hardening clit in her own fluid.

"Fucking hell, girl," he growled, close to her ear. "You are a fucking little Siren and no mistake. You should come with a health warning."

"Oh, I will come, Sir," she shot back, cheekily, panting slightly as his fingers toyed with her. "Not necessarily with a warning, though."

Severus couldn't help smiling, into her hair.

"You'd still call me Sir, even in this position?"

"Sometimes it adds to the thrill," she admitted. "Don't you think?"

"I thrill you?"

"Every time. Sir."

"Fucking hell, Granger," he exclaimed, removing his hand from her between her legs, for he had just been struck with an idea, and his cock liked it, very much. "Turn over for me; and get on your knees. I need your arse in the air and your head over the pillow."

She had controlled him, last night, and he had enjoyed complying with her firm instructions. Now it was his turn. He'd seen this position, many a time, not always a pleasant experience, particularly at a Revel, but he wanted to try it. She knelt up, and he stroked her back and bottom as she edged herself into position. Granger was a clever girl, and not a total innocent, she knew what he wanted her to do.

Once she was on all fours in front of him, he positioned himself between her legs, spreading her arse cheeks with both hands, using his fingers to splay her labia open so that he could lean forwards and stick his tongue into her juicy cunt, fixing his mouth on her as if he was snogging her pussy, flickering his sharp tongue over her clit, and around her holes.

She let loose with a cry that sounded like shock, mingled with delight, and some rather uncharacteristic swearing, and he smirked against her, not letting up on his assault. He wanted her to come, hard, right in his face, and if she screamed and swore at the same time, so much the better. He wanted her helpless, desperate only for the pleasure-giving swipes of his tongue.

Severus' mouth was moving on her in a frenzied attack, his tongue poking deep inside her hole, titillating her urethral opening (which produced a scream of such volume that he mentally filed that for future reference) and sucked her clitoris hard into his mouth, plying it between his lips and aggravating the needy little bud fast across his head, with his tongue.

Struggling to hold onto her slick labia, for she was so fucking wet, her entire cunt soaked with his rapacious saliva and her own juices; a long, drawn-out moan from the top of the bed advised him that she must be on the absolute cusp of her orgasm.

That's it, you little peach, he thought. Flood my face with everything you have, because fucking Merlin knows, I want it all.

Granger did not disappoint, rutting her hips furiously as she reached her climax, writhing away from his mouth and giving him time to get to his knees, swiping his hand roughly across his face to wipe off some of the wetness before grasping her waist and shoving his cock into her pulsing hole, yet again eliciting a scream of pleasured shock.

"Fuck, Severus!" she squealed, her voice ragged.

He loved it when this prissy little student swore like a trooper.

"That was the idea," he retorted, up on his knees and shagging her brutally hard, for he was more than ready to come, for lashing her sweet cunt with his tongue had been a turn-on of epic proportions.

Using his tight hold on her waist to pull her rump backwards as he was ramming into her, it was almost all over, bar the shouting. Kneeling up high, looking down on her shapely back, with her light brown curls bouncing all over her spine with every thrust, her peachy arse like a blur as he pounded into her, Severus felt like the king of the fucking castle. When he'd agreed to return to Hogwarts, he could never have predicted he'd be in this situation a few short weeks later.

Holy fucking shit. 

Thundering home, the spunk spilled from his cock in hot bursts, coating her already-soaked insides. He shouted; long and loud, with each sharp thrust that emptied his load deep inside her, bit by bit.

As he slowed his movements, Severus was brought down to earth a little bit, for they'd had sex three times and not cleared up after any of them, and whilst he'd be happy to smell of her pussy forever, he doubted that Granger would feel the same.

Withdrawing from her, the wet bedsheets not escaping his notice, he rolled neatly off the bed, bringing her with him, so that she ended up held safely in his arms, and he squired her through to the bathroom, into the shower, where he stood her up and set the water to run. There was a brief moment where the heat took a while to come through, and they both jumped from a cold splash, but it was soon running hot and Severus guided her beneath the spray, and the young witch drew him into it with her, wrapping her arms around his neck as the water pounded on top of them.

"Thank you," she whispered, raking his wet hair behind his ear so that she could speak into it.

She was thanking him?

"What on earth for, girl?"

"For making me feel alive," Granger replied, nipping his earlobe.

"I can assure you, Hermione, that the feeling is entirely mutual," he reassured her, trailing his hands down her back.

A beautiful smile spread across her face, as she stood in the water spray, her long hair running in soaked rivulets down her naked shoulders.

How long could this last? What on earth were they even doing?

Right at that moment, Severus didn't care, even when she reached for the shampoo bottle with a threatening gleam of intent, in her eye.

-xxx-

They were seated at the small table next to Snape's bookshelves, eating a lunch that had been ordered by Floo and delivered by a small, proud-looking house-elf. Hermione had plaited her damp hair over one shoulder; and redressed herself in her jeans and t-shirt from the previous evening. Her professor was wearing nothing but a black silk dressing gown, tied at the waist, and falling open so that she could clearly see the thin layer of dark hair that adorned his pale chest.

It really was rather distracting when she was trying to eat, because she was actually bloody starving, but Snape looked even more appetising than the delicious lunch that was laid out before them. She had washed his hair to within an inch of its life, focusing on the areas where the grease had been allowed to build up, and as a result it was now a glossy black that sat neatly on his shoulders, rather than hang there, lank and lifeless. She wanted to grasp handfuls of it, whilst snogging his face off.

Behave yourself, she chided, inwardly, attempting to focus on the thick, chunky vegetable soup and doorstep slices of fresh bread, spread with Hogwarts own butter.

There was a rather awkward atmosphere across the table, probably since they were doing something so mundane as eating lunch together. Every other encounter, outside of lesson time, had been highly sexual, intense and desperate. Was there anything more between them than just blisteringly hot sex?

Hermione supposed it didn't matter, really, since they hadn't exactly entered a committed relationship or any such nonsense.

But yet, it felt more. It felt, on some level, that there was emotion between them, but Hermione suspected she would have to work hard to find it, in someone so notoriously private and closed-off as Severus Snape.

"Are you going to watch the Quidditch later?" she asked, embarrassed at the banality of her question, but at least it was a start, and much better than sitting there in silence.

Gryffindor were playing Slytherin that afternoon, always the first match of the season, and always a hard-fought contest, full of ancient old rivalries that Hermione suspected the war had done little to dispel. Snape looked up at her, chewing and swallowing his mouthful thoughtfully before answering. She noticed that he ate very slowly; and was eating much less than her. No wonder he was so slim. A man of his height really needed to carry more weight on his frame.

"As Head of Slytherin house, I am duty-bound to be there," he advised, "although I do like to attend all the Quidditch fixtures, whether or not my house are playing, for I am a great lover of the sport."

"You like Quidditch?"

"I do."

"Did you play?"

"I did, in school. I was a Chaser, although my general unpopularity prevented me from being selected for the Slytherin house team."

He made this remark so matter-of-factly that Hermione felt rather sorry for him, and he raised an eyebrow at her silence.

"Do not pity me, Hermione. You know nothing of my past."

"I'd like to know, if you'd like to tell me? I'd like to get to know you … Severus."

Snape took a sip of water and appeared to consider her request.

"Perhaps. I am unaccustomed to allowing anyone close to me, and you are, after all, my student. I would be unadvised to take you too deeply into my confidence."

Slightly perturbed by his answer, Hermione opted not to push the matter further, for now. What they were doing together was so far out of the realm of acceptable behaviour, that she couldn't really expect anything of him, as much as she might have liked it.

"I'll leave here after lunch, then," she replied. "I'll probably head down to the pitch with Neville, as I'd like to watch Ginny play."

"Miss Weasley is the new Gryffindor captain, this season?"

"She is, indeed."

He smirked.

"Her team has no chance against mine."

"Is that a threat?" Hermione challenged.

"Merely a fact."

"Ten Galleons says Gryffindor win."

"You are attempting to make a wager with me, you impertinent little witch?"

"Yes."

Snape leant back in his chair, clearly finished with his lunch, and the dressing gown opened a little further at the top, drawing her eye downwards. He did not miss her falling gaze.

"If we are gambling, then let us set the stakes a little higher, Miss Granger."

"Go on."

"If Slytherin are victorious, you return to my chamber tonight, and agree to partake in a sexual act of my choosing. In the … unlikely event that Gryffindor win, the choice will be yours."

Gods, he was so fucking desirable, and he had no bloody idea of it. Whatever he had in his mind that he wanted to do, whatever sexual act, she already wanted to do it with him, and her blood whooshed in her ears with excitement. Hermione stuck out her hand to shake his, in agreement, an oddly formal gesture after everything that had passed between them.

"I shall enjoy imagining the pleasure I will take from you, as I watch Slytherin fly to victory, this afternoon," he drawled.

"Don't count your Ashwinder eggs before they are hatched. Ginny has put a great team together."

"You misunderstand me, Hermione. I shall be content whether I win or lose. Either way, I secure your company for another evening."

He quirked an eyebrow; and placed his folded napkin on the table. Hermione suddenly remembered something – oh, crap.

"I'll be quite late, I'm afraid. A whole group of us are in detention with Professor Briner, this evening."

"A group?"

"Yes. Myself, Ginny Weasley, Malfoy, and the Greengrass sisters."

"Three Slytherins in detention? I was not aware of this. I shall speak to Richard, in the staff room, later on. What happened for him to place such a disparate group of students in detention?"

Hermione gulped, wondering how best to phrase her concerns.

"If it's not a conflict of interest, I would like to tell you?"

He nodded, rising from the table.

"If you have finished, let us be seated on the sofa whilst we talk. I would suggest retiring to the bedroom for comfort, but apparently this is frowned upon by your mother."

His eyes glittered to show he was joking, and Hermione found that she appreciated the easy mention of her mother, showing that he had not forgotten, that he did not find it awkward to discuss.

Hermione settled herself, cross-legged on the sofa, whilst Snape sat beside her, lighting a post-lunch cigarette and drawing deeply on it as he waited for her to begin speaking.

"There are a number of us who find Professor Briner rather sleazy," she began. "By that I mean, that we think he may have designs of some of the female students. There is a very uncomfortable atmosphere in his classes, not helped by Draco Malfoy's running commentary, which is rather indiscreet, I must tell you."

"It will interest you to know that Richard Briner believes yourself and Draco to be quite the couple."

"He does?"

She made a nauseated face as Snape nodded in confirmation.

"Obviously, you are aware that I am not seeing Malfoy?"

"One would hope," he replied, drily, taking another drag on his cigarette, exhaling the smoke through his nose in long, unbroken tendrils.

"Draco thinks that Briner will make his move soon. From what happened yesterday, it seems that he intends to pursue Hannah Abbott, and possibly Astoria Greengrass too, although after Astoria shouted him down, calling him dreadful names, I suspect he will desist with her, now."

"The younger Miss Greengrass has always possessed a rather outspoken disposition, that has been evident during in-house disputes."

"She certainly seemed fiery."

"Quite so. Now, for what reason has Briner detained you all, this evening?"

"For standing up in class and telling him that he had no right to make comments about our personal relationships. I mean, we were quite rude, so I suppose he's justified in assigning detention, but, I still believe that his actions and comments were wrong. I was the first one to speak up and complain."

"That, Miss Granger, I do not doubt."

"Hannah Abbott is now seeing Neville Longbottom, and it is a good match. She was quite upset when Professor Briner told her off for not staying behind with him after class, and even more so when he dismissed her, and requested that Susan Bones remain behind instead. And, I have to tell you, I think that if the professor were to try something with Susan, she would probably let him."

Snape took another two lungfuls of smoke before answering her.

"And this is where we reach a grey area, Hermione, for we would now be in the realm of consensual adult relations, which would be our only defence, should we ourselves be discovered. From what you are saying, should I gather than Miss Bones holds a candle for Briner?"

She nodded.

"Then should something happen between them, she is well of age, like yourself, despite the inequality in their respective positions. The problems are going to arise if Briner attempts to engage those who are not interested in him, such as Miss Abbott, or those who are underage, like the younger Miss Greengrass."

"Should I report him to Professor McGonagall?"

"I don't think so. Not yet. Not when nothing has actually happened, since no offence has yet been committed. I shall keep an extremely close eye on the man, and listen carefully to what he says at table, and in the staff room. I trust you will continue to report your concerns to me?"

"Of course I will."

"Good girl."

He finished smoking his cigarette; and flicked the remains into the fire.

"Before I go, can we sit here for a short while? You know, just … together?"

Snape looked confused; but nodded nonetheless. Hermione guided him to turn and face her, encouraging him to lift his feet and rest them on the sofa, while she wriggled herself between his legs, laying her head on his chest and entwining her bare feet with his. He held himself tense underneath her, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do, but Hermione continued to snuggle against him, breathing slowly and deeply, as if by doing so she would enable him to follow suit.

With a sigh, she felt a ripple of magic, followed by a voluminous blanket drape itself atop them, covering Snape's bare legs and up to her waist. He then wrapped his arms around her; and dropped a kiss to the top of her head, which was tucked almost under his chin.

It was their first cuddle, and it was rather lovely. Quidditch and detention were not due for a while yet, they had enough time to simply be together, physically close but not in a sexual way. Hermione had a strong suspicion that the dark, withdrawn professor also needed this kind of contact.

In addition, it was the longest conversation they'd ever had.


	15. Chapter 15

Severus looked out across the school Quidditch pitch, a sea of red and green in the supporters' stands, and the rival broomsticks of Slytherin and Gryffindor streaking between the goal hoops in a desperate struggle to be victorious in the first match of the season. There was a contingent of Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs, but they were in far smaller number and in much quieter voice than the snakes and lions.

Slytherin versus Gryffindor was always a hard-fought contest, and both sides appeared to be holding their own, thus far. The youngest Weasley resembled a red dynamo, both in hair and clothing, her Chaser position seeing her hurtling around the pitch like a witch possessed. This was her first fixture as team captain for Gryffindor, hence why she seemed so desperate to secure a victory and justify her position. Her face was taut with grim determination.

His own Slytherin captain was a grim-faced prefect by the name of Booth, and somehow Malfoy had managed to return to the team as Seeker, a position he had held since the second year, the poles of success no doubt greased by the wealth of his family. Now, it seemed, he was in on pure talent, and Severus had to admit that Draco was performing admirably, thus far, having enticed the new Gryffindor Seeker into several false dives. Malfoy was experienced, a fine flyer, and most of all, exceptionally cunning, which Severus felt was an essential quality for an effective Seeker.

He wondered if Miss Granger – now fast becoming purely Hermione to him, was in the crowd. Severus couldn't tell, amongst the heaving mass of scarlet and gold, cheering their team to what they hoped would be a decisive victory. Wrapping his thick travelling cloak around him, it seemed unlikely that the shiver that had just run through him was entirely due to the temperature. It was a September afternoon, and even in the sprawling hills of Scotland, the weather could not be considered cold.

No, it was definitely her. This too-young girl who was getting under his skin like a burrowing cockroach (he mentally apologised for the unflattering analogy) insinuating herself into his life as if she'd always been there.

What had that been, this afternoon, on his sofa? The words cuddle and snuggle reeked of teenage infatuation; pathetic, banal terms that did not even come close to the feelings that their non-sexual contact had evoked in him.

She had lain on the old cushions of the worn sofa, laying her head on his chest and relaxing, somehow enticing him without words nor actions to wrap his arms around her, to cocoon them both in a warm blanket and slow his heart rate to match hers.

Severus had felt acceptance, as she settled herself against him, and he'd felt her trust as her muscles slackened, relying fully on his body to support her. He'd also felt desire in the tiniest of ways, such as the long brown curl that had tickled the top of his hand, and the warm breath from her lips on a sliver of bare chest skin as his dressing gown had opened slightly. He'd also felt her pleasure at simply being with him – and it was astounding.

It had not been a hard decision to summon the blanket and cover their lower halves, and to encircle her with his arms in a protective gesture, as if claiming the young witch for his own.

Merlin, it had been so much more than a fucking cuddle.

He'd felt a peace that he wasn't entirely sure he'd ever felt before. It had felt like calm acceptance, mixed with the erotic urges that he had for her, despite the encounter not being in any way sexual. He'd never wanted to let her go, and it was only when they both began to stumble into sleep that they'd come back to themselves, and Granger had returned to her own chambers.

She'd urged him not to get up, and he'd lain on the sofa for a good while afterwards, smoking and drinking tea, feeling rather louche, lounging around wearing his dressing gown in the early afternoon, the top of his head still tingling where she had placed a final kiss before stepping through the Floo.

What kind of lovesick fool was he? He'd thought their encounters, right from the start, to be purely sexual, a way for them both to cope with the emptiness of their lives, now that the war was over. But sitting here, watching Quidditch, his only thoughts were of how safe and content he'd felt, on his own decrepit sofa, wrapped up in the young Miss Granger.

An ear-splitting roar from the crowd jerked Severus from his indulgent thoughts, and his eyes roved the pitch for the source of the action. There it was, Draco Malfoy was flying down from above the far-end goal hoops, the Golden Snitch glittering in his hand, held firmly aloft in his leather Seeker's glove. Severus scanned the scoreboard, since the capture of the Snitch didn't necessarily mean that a team had won the game.

Gryffindor were on a hundred points, and Slytherin behind them on eighty, which meant that the hundred-and-fifty points for the Snitch gave them a comfortable win. And although he was pleased with the eruption of joy from the green and silver side of the stands, promising an excellent atmosphere in the dungeon common room later, the win meant only one thing.

Severus disguised his lascivious smirk by pulling his scarf high around his neck and mouth.

-xxx-

He opted to take his dinner in the Great Hall, where the Slytherin table was ebullient, and the Gryffindor one downcast and morose. It was a shame really, as the Weasley girl's team had played an excellent match, their technique had been good, and the fact they were in the lead on points at the time of capture showed that Gryffindor had performed well. However, the Golden Snitch was the object that meant a win or loss in such an evenly-matched game, and the experience of Draco Malfoy had ultimately secured the win for Slytherin.

Severus wasn't complaining. He had his very own prize for his house winning the match, and it would be extracted from one Miss Hermione Granger. His dick twitched at the thought, but the trouble was, he had absolutely no idea what to ask for.

His sexual experience was limited to her alone, and the things he had seen and learned via his Death Eater comrades were not experiences he wished to re-enact himself, let alone inflict upon her.

Come on, man, he berated himself, sitting at the large desk in his classroom, after supper, doing the marking of homework that he'd neglected the previous evening. He remembered the day that Granger had stayed after class; and allowed him to take her across his desk. Even now, he couldn't believe that had happened.

Severus looked out upon the empty classroom, the rows of vacant brewing benches and neatly-placed stools in front of him, their surfaces free of students and the slop they usually brewed in their standard-issue cauldrons. Granger's usual seat was not right at the front, but annoyingly (or not) directly in his eyeline. This was probably because her seat was the first place his eye was drawn when he glanced up, rather than any particular seating choice by her.

Suddenly, he knew what he wanted. Fucking hell, he knew. And Granger? She would agree to it. A Gryffindor would never renege on a bet.

He reached for a blank parchment, and inked his quill, beginning a short letter to his sleazy arsehole of a colleague, Richard Briner.

-xxx-

Hermione was fuming in the Transfiguration classroom, writing a parchment full of pointless lines, that were meant, in some way, to constitute an appropriate punishment for their supposed crimes.

The detention had begun badly when they had all trooped here after supper; Draco and the Greengrass sisters still buoyant and enthused by their victory on the Quidditch pitch, and Ginny still smarting and angry over her defeat. They lined up outside the classroom like a group of first-years, the humiliation not lost on any of them, particularly herself and Malfoy, who in any normal year would have been finished with school and in their place of work by now.

"How nice to see you all so punctually," Professor Briner had drawled, unctuously, opening the door of his classroom and ushering them all inside, gesturing to a row of five desks that had been placed in a horizontal row before his raised teaching desk.

Once they were seated, trying desperately not to look childish or sulky, and determined not to say anything else that would land them in even more trouble with this bastard; Briner perched himself on the edge of his desk and regarded them all, one by one.

"The purpose of this detention is two-fold," he began. "Firstly, it is of course, a punishment, for your disgusting behaviour in yesterday's lesson, but secondly, it is also to make you aware that I will not be tolerating any more of your unfounded accusations. I am new to this job, and I have taken over a position from a teacher with many years excellent standing. It does not escape me that I have giant shoes to fill."

Hermione privately thought that he was right about that last bit. As if a wizard like Richard Briner could ever match up to the experience and steadfastness of Professor McGonagall.

"Casting aspersions about me in the way that you did, not to mention the crude way in which some of you chose to express yourselves," he continued, glaring particularly at the Greengrass sisters, who had both attacked him using some rather colourful language, "may jeopardise my position at this school, and create needless suspicion among the students, not to mention provoking gossip."

"But Sir," Hermione interrupted, not able to remain silent any longer. "Do you not think that you yourself are provoking gossip by favouring certain students over others?"

His gaze shot straight to her, and a horrible smirk appeared on his lips.

"Are you jealous that you are not the recipient of my alleged favouritism, Miss Granger?"

"Certainly not!"

Briner stood up and approached her, looming over her desk in a way that was no doubt intended to intimidate.

"The famous Hermione Granger," he jeered. "I know all about you, little girl. You are too used to being everyone's precious lion, the teachers' pet. How galling it must be for you, to see me lavishing my attention on others, rather than worshipping at your golden throne."

Hermione couldn't even reply, she was so angry at his accusation, and felt her cheeks redden and her mouth fall open in shock.

"I think Granger is relieved not to be the subject of your attention."

Malfoy had inexplicably come to her rescue, and Professor Briner whipped around to face him.

"When I want your opinion, Mr Malfoy, I shall ask for it."

"And when I want you to declare my private relationship status before the class, I'll ask for it," Draco had retorted, quick as a flash.

"He's right," Ginny had interjected. "You say you want to protect your position here, Sir, but you're not doing yourself any favours by bringing up students' personal lives in lesson time. Everyone has a right to their own privacy."

"I am surprised, Miss Weasley, that you speak up for Mr Malfoy, given that he single-handedly destroyed your Quidditch team earlier in the afternoon."

Hermione saw Ginny flush with anger, for Quidditch was her greatest passion, and Briner had somehow known exactly where to attack her, in order to cause the maximum hurt and offence.

To Ginny's great credit, she clamped her lips together and managed not to reply, because there was no doubt had she said what she was really thinking, she'd have found herself on the way to the Head's office facing an even more severe punishment. Briner turned back to Hermione, leaving Ginny and Draco seething with anger at his words.

"As it is, Miss Granger, I have advised the Headmistress of the problems I am having with you, and that the reason for the unfounded rumours you have started spreading, are due to nothing more than jealousy, that you are no longer the most favoured student in this school."

He'd leant forwards on her desk, his palms flat on the wood, and pushed his head far too close to her face, close enough for her to smell the cheap wine he'd imbibed at supper.

"The good professor understands how … disappointed you are, not to be my particular favourite. She suggests that the trauma of the war may have affected your previously good judgement," he leered. "So, I am to … 'go easy' on you. But mark my words, girl, if you persist in making scurrilous accusations, I will stop at nothing to have you removed from this class, and from this school, if necessary. I know that the problem is you, and not your four lap-dogs, sitting here."

There seemed to be an audible intake of breath from all the seated students, herself included.

"So, this is how it is, then?"

A small but confident voice had spoken up, and Hermione looked down the row of desks, at the dynamic blonde Slytherin that Malfoy had proclaimed himself 'in love' with.

"How what is, Miss Greengrass?"

"You can say and do whatever you want, including teasing students about private relationships and leisure activities, and threatening us, but we can't say anything in return, even if we can see that you're favouring students and trying to get in as many pairs of knickers as you can?"

The silence was absolute.

Professor Briner whipped out his wand in an angry gesture, and conjured five long sheets of parchment, five quills, and five ink bottles in front of them all, before pointing his wand at the board, and the words; I will not question the teaching methods of my professor, nor make spurious allegations.

"Five hundred times," he spat. "Each of you. Now."

"The last time freedom of speech was denied in this school," Hermione pointed out, in a loud voice, "one Dolores Umbridge was in charge, silencing the students for her own dictatorial agenda. I shouldn't need to remind you how successful that approach turned out to be."

"Nice one," hissed Draco, and she wasn't sure if Briner had heard his support.

The professor turned his back on them all, returning to the other side of his large teaching desk, and seated himself.

"Five hundred times," he repeated, casting his wand to the back of the classroom and locking the door, before opening a book in front of him and writing in a notebook whilst using the text as reference.

Clearly, the discussion was over.

-xxx-

Five hundred lines later, and Briner was magically counting them as they scribbled, Hermione sat tapping her foot, waiting for Ginny, Astoria, Daphne and Draco to finish theirs. Malfoy seemed the nearest to the end of his parchment, but the younger three clearly still had some way to go, especially Astoria, who was still trying to shoot evil looks at Professor Briner, not realising the futility of doing so.

Just write, Hermione thought, crossly. Just get them done and we can all get out of here; and start planning how to bring this hideous teacher down.

There was a tentative knock on the classroom door, and Briner used his wand to slide the bolt across and open it. A fifth-year Slytherin prefect entered the room, she wasn't sure of his name, and walked up to Briner's desk, his shoes clonking noisily on the stone floor in the oppressive silence.

He passed Briner a note, which the teacher unfolded, and Hermione could see his eyes scanning the words, and a smirk forming on his lips as he dismissed the messenger.

"That is five hundred, Mr Malfoy," he called. "Put your quill down. Girls, keep writing."

Draco let his quill slap on the desk and began massaging his hand, pointedly.

"Miss Granger," drawled Briner, brandishing the note with a triumphant flourish. "It appears that I am not the only professor you have displeased this week. This missive is from Professor Snape, who has asked me to send you to him as soon as I have … finished with you. He requests that you attend the Potions classroom immediately, just as you are."

It was a herculean effort for Hermione to keep the secret grin that was twitching at her lips from spreading into a full-blown smile across her face. Detentions at Hogwarts were always conducted in uniform, and he'd specifically requested that she 'come as she was' – to meet him in the dungeon classroom. Could this be Snape exacting his prize for winning their wager? Or just his way of rescuing her from detention? Either way, she was intrigued, and not a little excited.

"Should I go now, Sir?" she asked Briner, coldly. "Since I finished my lines over half an hour ago?"

"Such an attitude," he tutted, and Hermione was hit with an intense desire to slap his ratty face. "But, yes, go. I have no further use for you."

"I'm going too, then," Draco added, firmly. "I've finished."

He stood up, pushing the desk away from him with an angry shove, and the resultant screech of wood against stone set everyone's teeth on edge.

"Walking Miss Granger to the dungeon, Mr Malfoy?" Briner sneered.

Draco walked up to the desk, right in front of their tormentor.

"Let's agree … Sir, that you refrain from making snide remarks about our relationship, and we'll button our lips in class."

It was a statement, not a question, and Professor Briner appeared to have nothing further to say on the matter. Malfoy grabbed hold of Hermione's hand, and pulled her down the centre of the rows of desks, towards the now-unlocked door of the Transfiguration classroom, not letting go until they were halfway down the next corridor.

"You don't have to hold my hand all the way to the Potions classroom," she accused, shaking her hand free of his grip, and he released her immediately.

"Don't worry, Granger, I wasn't going to. Although I will walk you down there."

"Why?" she answered, a little too quickly. "Our guest corridor is miles from the dungeons."

He smirked, looking at her in what seemed like amusement, out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm going to see some friends in the common room," he told her. "Plus, I'm a nosey bastard. I want to see what Snape has on you. Surely a swot like you can't achieve two detentions in one day?"

Hermione began to sweat a little as they walked. She needed to get rid of Malfoy, and fast. Not that she thought Snape would be unguarded enough to be laying naked on his desk whilst he waited for her, with only a cauldron in front of his dangly bits.

She berated herself at the careless thought, and … now she was grinning. Shit. Hermione turned away from Malfoy, pretending to be interested in the portraits as they walked through the corridors, who grinned inanely back at her, which really wasn't that helpful.

After a mostly silent walk to the dungeons, Draco knocked sharply on the door of the Potions classroom.

"What did you do that for?" she asked, crossly. "I'm capable of knocking on a door myself, thank you."

"What does it matter, so long as one of us knocks?"

I don't want you to knock, she thought. It's louder and heavier than my knock would be. Still, at least this might give Snape a tiny warning, just in case he had something planned. That wizard noticed everything.

"Enter."

They both heard his stern, unforgiving voice from inside the room, only to Hermione it now sounded like the promise of undiluted passion, of a racing pulse and desires met. His deep voice was like rich molten chocolate, drizzled over her bared breasts and licked clean by his talented lips.

Seriously. She needed to get a bloody grip on herself. Especially as Draco Malfoy was right there. Hermione entered the room first, quickly followed by the unwelcome third wheel.

"Miss Granger. Professor Briner received my message?"

"He did, Sir."

"And for what reason are you accompanied by Mr Malfoy?"

"I finished my lines at the time Granger was leaving, Sir," Draco replied, despite not having been asked.

"So you thought you would accompany her, why?"

Malfoy floundered around for an answer.

"I suggest that you keep your nose out of the business of others, Draco. Miss Granger, be seated, at your usual desk. You will find your latest essay there. I should like you to peruse it carefully, and then tell me why I am so very angry with you, and thus summoned you here."

His face was fixed, and his eyes bored into her as if he truly was furious. Snape was either an award-winning actor, or she had indeed made a grievous error in her essay. A little nervous, Hermione approached her desk and picked up the familiar parchment, that she had spent hours researching, composing and writing.

"If there is nothing further, Mr Malfoy?" Snape demanded, expectantly.

"Nothing, Sir," he replied, sheepishly, with none of the arrogance that he'd used to address Professor Briner.

"Then close the door on your way … out," Snape enunciated, returning to sit behind his desk with a swirl of black cloth.

As the heavy door closed behind Draco, the professor cast his wand across the room, bringing the iron bolt across as Briner had done, and then set a fizzing security ward upon it, making it totally impenetrable.

Hermione sat at her desk, eyes focusing on her essay, just in case she had read this situation badly wrong. It wouldn't be the first time in life that her presumption had landed her in trouble.

"Put it down," he commanded, and she complied, immediately. "There is nothing wrong with your homework, as of course you must know already. It is an O-grade essay, without doubt."

Phew. He must have just used it as a ruse to divert Draco from the real reason he'd summoned her here.

"Miss Granger."

The sound of his quiet but demanding voice made her look up, and his face was expressionless, giving nothing away.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Slytherin won the Quidditch, Miss Granger."

"They did, Sir."

"Do I have your consent to collect my winnings from our wager?"

She smiled, and to her delight, saw the corners of his mouth twitch with an embarrassed, slightly naughty, smirk.

"You have my consent."

He sat back in his chair, steepled his fingers under his chin, and appraised her.

What on earth did he have planned?

-xxx-

Severus looked out over the familiar dungeon classroom, every bit as empty as it had been earlier, excepting the young witch that was now at her allocated workbench, looking expectant. How many times had he sat here, looking at her, watching her work, since this … whatever it was, between them, had begun? And now she was here. Alone with him in an empty room, awaiting his action.

She had taken up her essay that he had conjured in a split-second, after the surprise arrival of Draco Malfoy, and sent spinning to her workbench. What that little shit had been doing here, Severus had no idea, and could only hope that he didn't suspect anything untoward. Still, it would not be of any huge consequence, since he had enough dirt and scandal on the Malfoys to buy Draco's silence for a hundred years.

He had instructed her to put the essay down. They had no need of it … now.

"I watch you, during lessons, Miss Granger. Did you know that?"

He remained in the same position, leaning against the back of his large desk chair.

"I hoped so," she replied.

"You hoped so? You hoped that thoughts of you would distract me from my teaching?"

"Yes."

The little wench smiled at him, and damn, he could not stop the corners of his mouth twitching in response.

"They do, Granger," he replied, reaching down and pulling open his belt, not taking his eyes from hers as he did so. "It is most inconvenient, when extolling the various dangers of whatever potion we are brewing that day, to be interrupted by thoughts of your body, your naked body, dancing through my mind, without a care."

"I'm sorry, Sir."

She was playing the game. She was.

Severus unfastened his trouser buttons and tugged down the zip, cupping his growing erection in his hand, through his undershorts and assessing the damage, thus far. His cock was five miles ahead already, as-fucking-always.

"I recall when you took this cock in your mouth, girl," he told her, his voice deep and slightly echoing in the empty, cavernous room. "I want more."

Granger made to stand up from her seat.

"Sit."

She remained where she was, as did he, and Severus reached into his shorts, drawing his long, thick cock into his waiting hand, and began to gently slide his hand from base to tip, and back again, just readying himself.

Never mind the O-grade essay, he felt like an O-grade pervert.

The girl was sitting in her school uniform, to all intents and purposes exactly how she would sit in his lessons, other than the classroom was empty, and it was late on a Saturday evening. He was sitting at his desk, wanking slowly, wondering how long he could tease himself before his natural urges around this witch took over.

Severus had never interfered with a student in his entire life, not even as a student himself. He had noticed them, these young witches, these sixth and seventh years that were almost and just adults, of course he had. He wasn't fucking blind. As a young teacher, just starting out, some of them had been only little younger than he had been.

And yet he had never bothered a single one, in that way. He'd like to say it was because he took his teachers' code extremely seriously, but the truth was that he'd never had the confidence, nor the thought that any of them may be even slightly interested in a skinny, greasy, unpleasant professor that smelled of potion ingredients and lived in the dungeon like a vampire bat.

Now? Now all bets were off, especially the ill-advised wager that Granger had made with him earlier. With Potter off the team, there was no way that any new Seeker would have been a match for the years of experience that Malfoy possessed. She certainly had a lot to learn about the finer points of Quidditch – and the odds of winning a bet against a Slytherin.

He stood up, keeping his trousers at his waist with one hand on the hip, the front hanging wide open, allowing him to keep up the steady movement on his cock. Her eyes widened as he walked down the two steps of the teaching platform towards her, heading straight for her desk in the third row as his teaching robe trailed behind him.

As Severus stood level with her, beside the workbench, she put her hands forward, removing his own hands from his cock, and from his trousers, which fell to the floor, the belt making a metallic thud on the stone as it did so. She ran one finger down the full length of his erection, causing it to lurch upwards, as enthusiastic as a fucking Hufflepuff at a tea party. Traitorous bastard thing.

"Suck it," he hissed, desperately. "Suck it now."

Granger leaned her head forwards, still seated at her workbench, and guided his dick towards her lips, and he watched transfixed as her pink mouth closed around the head and slid down the shaft in one fucking amazing movement.

"Holy fuck," he cursed, unable to stop the expletive bubbling up in his throat.

Turning herself slightly to the side, she used one small hand on the base of his cock, holding it steady and angled into her sweet mouth. Her other hand swept around his slim hip, easing his undershorts down over his arse and stroking the bare cheek, squeezing his bum as she sucked on him, sliding softly up and down his aching dick.

"Harder," he reassured. "You can go harder. You won't break it."

She looked up at him, and Severus thought he might come there and then, at the sight of her innocent eyes, accompanied by the visual of her mouth around his cock. Fucking hell, yet again.

Not breaking eye contact, she increased the pressure of her lips around his dick, flickering her tongue across the head at the end of each upstroke, before sliding down again. Severus pushed his hand into her abundant hair, tangling his fingers in the mass of curls, guiding her head into the rhythm he needed, and she made a sound, he hoped not of protest.

But no. It had not been protest. It had been encouragement.

Gaining in confidence, she lifted her hand from his cock to his other hip, taking a firm hold and moving them backwards and forwards as she sucked him, and faster.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit …

This was likely to be over far sooner than Severus had planned, for every little accoutrement was igniting his senses, pushing him forwards. He in his full teaching robes, dropped trousers and a uniformed student sucking his cock for all it was worth, in his own classroom. It was a damn wank dream come true.

The fact that the whole situation was so totally forbidden had set his blood flowing to a level of pressure that it hadn't felt for months, there was even a whooshing sound in his ears, drowning out all other noise with a pulsing thump, that beat like a drum.

Only vaguely aware of his hand in her hair, Granger rocked his hips against her waiting lips, taking almost his entire, but not quite, full length. He felt her mouth and tongue tight against his cock with every stroke she made, and he soon realised that he was thrusting into her mouth.

Again, again, again, again ….

He burst.

Roughly gathering his shirt up so that he could look down at the sight of him coming in her mouth, Severus knew he would never forget the sight of his own spunk dribbling down Hermione Granger's chin as she tried to swallow it all. She'd never manage it, and if he was honest, the sight he was looking upon at this very moment was far more erotic than a professional full swallowing, not that he'd ever experienced one. He didn't care. He just wanted … this.

-xxx-

He'd moaned louder than Hermione had ever heard from him. She didn't exactly have the skills to perform anything brilliant, but once it had become apparent that this was his choice for his win, she had fully entered into the spirit of it. So much so, in fact, that she could feel her knickers were soaked, pressed against her on the unforgiving wooden stool.

Swallowing the last bit of his come, she wiped her chin with her sleeve, and then stroked his bare hips and bum cheeks, which were still quivering from his explosive orgasm. Hermione felt his hands on her hair, massaging her scalp absently, as if he still wasn't quite himself. She sneaked a grin of satisfaction. The power she had felt, having Professor Snape at the tip of her tongue, quite literally, had been an erotic treat for the senses.

Hermione heard and felt the fizz of his magic; and glanced up to see that he had conjured her a glass of water, which he passed to her with a raised and expectant eyebrow. Yes, she'd have that. His semen wasn't the worst thing she'd ever swallowed, thinking back to the revolting mushrooms she'd been forced to consume last year, but it certainly wasn't the best.

As she downed the entire glass, Snape pulled up his shorts and trousers, and Hermione watched him tuck his penis carefully inside before doing all the fastenings and belt back up again. He vanished the glass; and pulled her to her feet.

"Thank you," he said, his voice husky, as if it had not been used for a while.

"You won the bet," she replied, smiling.

"I trust that you did not do that purely out of obligation?"

He looked concerned.

"Of course not."

"Good. Now, I find myself reluctant to be without you for long, but you must be seen to return to your room. Especially by Draco Malfoy. Once there, remove all traces of uniform, and come to my chambers, through the Floo. If you would wear that robe, the thin one with the flowers, that would please me greatly."

"Should I wear anything under it?"

"What do you think?"

"Only if you wear yours in the same manner."

"That can be arranged."

Hermione tugged on his collar, pulling him down for a quick, hard kiss, that he seemed rather surprised to receive. She was beginning to love seeing surprise on his famously neutral face. She then walked across to the door, hearing the ward lower as she approached it, and left the classroom without looking back. The teacher-student role play had been a very separate experience. Now she wanted to return to his rooms as herself, to their more equal roles.

After a swift walk through the dark hallways, for they were almost at the Saturday night curfew, Hermione reached the guest corridor and opted to knock on Draco's door, under the pretence of letting him know that her 'detention' had been fine, but ostensibly to ensure he knew that she was back in her own room.

He didn't answer, so she knocked again, only for the door to be yanked open angrily, and a red-faced Draco was standing there. Pansy Parkinson was in his room, standing by the fire, her beautiful face swollen with crying.

"What is it, Granger?" he asked, tersely.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, I was just letting you know I was back, you know, from detention."

"Detention. Yeah, ok, got it. You're back. Good. That all?"

"Another one, Draco? You're not shagging Granger as well, are you?" Pansy screeched.

She dissolved into angry tears, and Hermione suspected this was not the first time tonight. Ah well. Malfoy shouldn't be such a cheating bastard then. He turned back to her, rolling his eyes as if he was quite sick of his girlfriend, right at that moment.

"What's that on your jumper, Granger?"

She looked down, to see a white blob on the left chest of her school uniform jumper.

Fuckkkkk ….

Hermione rubbed at it, quickly, her face burning as red as Draco's currently was.

"Um, some dinner, I think. Probably the custard. I'll put it in the laundry," she blustered.

"It wasn't there earlier. In detention with Briner," he accused.

"Does it matter? I slopped food on my jumper, what's it to you? Look; I'll leave you two be, goodnight."

She stammered her goodbyes, and hotfooted it across the corridor, opening the door to her own room, only looking back when she was just about to close it, and seeing Malfoy still standing there, leaning against his own doorframe with a wide smirk on his annoying face.

Hermione hoped to Merlin that Pansy would slap it.

-xxx-

As she stepped over the grate of Snape's fireplace, Hermione was surprised to see the room in darkness, apart from the green light of the flames, which were still glowing emerald after her Floo journey. He was dressed in his black silken robe, just as she had requested, tied loosely at the waist. His long hair still shone with unusual cleanliness after her attentions that morning, and hung softly on his shoulders, rather than lank on his face.

"May I?" he asked, by way of a greeting.

Hermione had no idea what he was asking, but he could have asked her to run naked around the Black Lake and she'd probably have done it.

"Of course."

She gasped as Snape scooped her up in one smooth movement, his arms under her legs, and carried her into the bedroom, where she gasped again at the sight before her.

There was a kitchen tray hovering above the bed, set with two glasses of red wine, a small plate of mixed cheeses, and some accompanying cracker biscuits. His bedroom fireplace was burning merrily, keeping the room warm, and there was an array of lighted candles on both bedside cabinets, flickering this way and that, illuminating the room with a golden glow.

The professor placed her on the bed, which was still made, the top coverlet of green eiderdown making it a cosy place to lounge. She moved across to allow him to join her, which he did, seating himself against the pillow, passing her a glass of wine, and taking one for himself.

Hermione searched his face for signs of what he had planned. He took a deep sip of his wine, and she did the same, and was swallowing when he began to speak, his voice low and melodious.

"I was born in a mill town in the north of England, and I was an only child. My father, like all men in the town, worked at the mill, until it closed. Unemployed and alcoholic, his activities from that point onwards consisted of beating his wife and son; and being a vile human being in every sense of the word. I was not sorry that he was imprisoned for life in a Muggle prison before I had left my teens, although I am sorry that he murdered my mother to warrant it."

Holding her breath, lest he stop, Hermione did not even touch him, not wanting to do anything to stop the tragic, but strangely beautiful, words that were falling from his usually guarded, taciturn lips.

"I joined the Death Eaters not long afterwards, with the minimum amount of persuasion, since I was already deeply embroiled in the Dark Arts through my associations at school. My pathetic heart riddled with unrequited love for a witch who would never return it; I continued on a self-destructive path, committing unspeakable acts, until the untimely death of that witch caused me to re-evaluate what the bloody hell I was actually doing."

He stopped to take a few sips of wine, and Hermione copied him, not offering advice nor comment, which was exceedingly unusual for her.

"Albus Dumbledore took my apology, offered me sanctuary, and elicited a promise from me that I have spent almost twenty years keeping, at great personal cost. You are aware of this promise?"

She nodded, drinking more wine, lest she butt in like a rampaging goat and halt his flow. Hermione had never heard Professor Snape say so much in her entire life, not even in lessons, where his verbal instruction was economical, and that was putting it kindly.

"I intended to spend the next twenty free of obligation; and enjoy the peace I fought so hard for. Instead I find myself here, with no plan and no aspirations. I am bored, Miss Granger."

"I'm sorry about that," she whispered, tentatively stroking the back of his nearest hand with two fingers, so lightly that he'd barely feel it.

"Bored … Hermione, until you entered my life when I least expected it. You have been … you are, a most surprising pleasure."

He plucked her wine glass from her fingers, and placed it with his own, back upon the tray, leaning forwards to draw her lips into a kiss, lightly touching his tongue against hers, and she could taste the heady warmth of the strong wine.

"Was I correct in thinking," he asked, drawing back, "that your request would have been for me to talk, had you won our indiscreet wager?"

"You were correct," Hermione replied, closing the distance between them and slipping her hand into the loose front of his dressing gown. "But I thought that Gryffindor lost the Quidditch?"

"I believed that we should both win."

And with that, Snape pulled her against him, folding his arms around her as he had done earlier in the day, and held her cradled to him, resting his chin on the top of her head.

It seemed, against all evidence to the contrary, that what this dark wizard needed more than anything in the world, was affection. She could do that.


	16. Chapter 16

He held her for a long time, wanting to keep her not only safe in his arms, but all to himself. Severus revelled in the feelings of possession and protection that washed over him, unused to having this kind of emotion for anyone or anything.

He had valued nothing in his life thus far; not belongings, not memories, and certainly not people.

Apart from a few fleeting moments of happiness, such as his Hogwarts letter arriving, or passing his Potions NEWT with the highest-ever recorded score, none of his memories were worth cherishing – they were miserable, terrifying and overwhelmingly painful. Severus had little in the way of material possessions, nothing that he would be distraught to lose, his wretched father had seen to that, smashing and breaking his way through his young son's toys and treasures. Severus had quickly learnt not to rely on any object becoming a permanent fixture in his life, mostly due to Tobias Snape's drunken rampages.

Thus, the cycle had continued into adulthood, as he'd acquired relatively few belongings, preferring to use the school's furniture and resources, as his salary piled up in Gringotts, unspent, unneeded. Summers would be passed in frugal squalor at Spinners End, not because he was a miser, but because Severus was a wizard who cared little for feeding or clothing himself, heating the house, or spending time in pleasant occupation.

He felt the warmth of her hand as it slipped between the open folds of his dressing gown, pushing gently through his coarse black hairs and laying palm-downwards on his chest, rising and falling with his own breaths. Severus stroked a hand down her back, feeling the silken material of her own feminine robe under his fingertips as he explored the familiar curves and dips of her spine. Merlin, he loved to touch her, and allowed his lips to brush her forehead, which made her look up at him, lazily.

"I want to know you," he told her, in a deep but quiet voice, knowing not where the words had come from.

"What do you want to know?" the girl replied, her brown eyes open and honest, the flecked caramel surface enticing him nearer.

"Everything."

And it was the truth. He'd told her a potted history of his own past, unglamorous as it was, and she had listened intently, not questioning or pitying, but just quietly hearing his words and taking them in. He was grateful for that. Severus rolled on his side a little more, so that he was facing her, and tightened his hold, drawing her small body against his own, and caressing her back firmly, as if he were a blind man, finding his way by touch alone, his breaths heavy in her hair.

Severus had thought he'd loved Lily Evans. He loved her with an insane passion that consumed his every waking moment from the time he'd been old enough to be interested in girls. He'd always liked her as a child, too, but his teenage devotion to the redhead had been something entirely different; more intense, more soul-destroying, as he'd realised the futility of his desires.

He'd never so much as held her hand, she'd made sure of that. Lily had been pleasant enough to him at school, and was a friend, until they drifted further apart as he sought acceptance from the more powerful members of his house through immersion in the Dark Arts. Once she'd begun seeing James Potter, the writing was already on the wall, so to speak. She didn't love Severus. He hadn't a hope in hell of her ever loving him. But, he'd persisted, and pushed Lily to a point where she had cut him entirely from her life.

The anger over her rejection had consumed him, sent him mad, drove him deeper and deeper into the Dark Arts, channelling his self-righteous rage into unspeakable acts, rather than accept that his devotion had been entirely one-sided. Unrequited love. Lily Evans had not loved him.

For a long time, Severus had believed that his whole life should be devoted to her memory, to protect her son, due to the way she had died. It had taken him a very long time to realise that she had not died by his hand, but by that time, when he'd begged Albus to release him from his vow, it was too late.

He did not love her. He had never loved her. He knew that now. Love was mutual, not sought by one, in desperation from another.

The feel of small fingers threading through the hair on his chest, seeking his nipple and circling it, brought his attention back to the present, and to the very real witch laying here in his arms. Severus exhaled fully, and then took a deep breath, before dipping his head and placing his lips on hers, finally taking the kiss he wanted so badly. As he moved his mouth, slowly opening it just enough to flick his tongue against her lips like a snake, he swallowed the sigh of pleasure that she made before pushing fully into her mouth; and beginning a firm swirl around her tongue.

His head began to spin from the sheer passion of the kiss. They had been laying in their embrace for a long while now, he knew not how long, and their bodies had clearly been impatient. Severus kept a strong arm around her back, feeling her muscles against his palm as she undulated against him. His other hand he dropped to her arse, clutching it hard and pulling her hips towards his own, where she would no doubt be able to feel his keen erection urgently seeking her attention, despite the blow-job in the classroom earlier.

He was not in love with Hermione Granger, he was sure of that. But he did love doing this.

The girl slid her hand up his chest, towards his neck, where she stroked the scarred skin as they kissed, sharpening his nerve endings as she did so. The top of his dressing gown had fallen fully open now, and he could feel the sheer material of hers against his bare chest. He wanted more, he needed to touch her bare skin.

Pushing her onto her back, Severus fumbled for the sash at the waist of her dressing gown, and tugged on it, with a raised eyebrow, seeking her consent.

"You want to know everything, or do you just want everything?" she asked, cryptically.

"All of that," he whispered, aware that it wasn't really a proper answer, before tugging at the sash and opening her robe, roving his eye over the thin strip of skin that he had exposed, down the middle.

Taking a deep breath that flared his large nostrils, Severus moved one side of the robe to uncover the breast that was nearest to him, bowing his head and closing his lips over her nipple as he supported the full mound with his hand. Granger made a moan of surprised pleasure, which drove him to open his mouth wider, and take even more of the delicious tit in his mouth.

"You can have anything you want, Sir," she told him, her voice sounding somewhat breathless.

"Try again," he growled, his voice resonating against her wet nipple.

"Severus," she gasped, as he uncovered the other breast and began to roll that nipple between his thumb and index finger, then returning his mouth to its task. "Oh … Severus, I meant, Sir."

He chuckled darkly, for she would never realise the effect that just using his given name had upon him. So long that name had been used in derision, in anger, in placation, in coercion. To hear it used in passion, in arousal, in desire … well, Granger was lucky he didn't come every time she said it.

Keeping up his suckle of her breast and his tweaking of the other, Severus became aware that she was wriggling underneath his upper body, as he attended to her. The fondling was entirely his pleasure, but it appeared to be having an arousing effect on the young witch, also. How very interesting. He lifted his head, gently dropping her nipple from his mouth and removing his hand from her other tit, sliding it down her body, opening the front of her floral robe as he did so.

Stroking his fingers over her mound, her hips lurched upwards and her thighs fell apart, immediately encouraging him to delve inside. It would be a stupid wizard indeed, who would turn down such an invitation.

"I want to touch you, Hermione," he told her, his voice low, with every syllable enunciated. "I want to watch you fall apart, under my hand."

Not waiting for a response, Severus covered her pussy with his hand, stroking the soft skin and watching her hips rise and fall as he touched her. Turning himself sideways, he kissed down her stomach so that his mouth met his own hand, and he used his long fingers to open the many folds of her labia, peeling them back like petals on a flower to expose her innermost secrets. She gasped as he swiped his tongue against her prominent clitoris, which was easily accessible since he was holding her open, so that he could grasp the tiny bud between his lips.

"Oh! Ohhh … gosh …" was all he heard from above, and he felt a tremble in her abdomen.

He needed more; and wanted to give her more. Swapping his hands so that the one under his head now held her labia apart, and, dropping his lower hand to push a finger inside her, he thrust gently as he continued to suck and mouth her clit. Her little cries became louder, and less coherent, and Severus felt her hand grab his hair, as if trying to direct his movements, but it felt purely pleasurable to be held by her in such a way.

As he attended to her, the wriggling and writhing became more intense, her juices began to flood his finger, and her clit was swelling hard and red. It was fucking arousing just watching her. Who would have thought that this bookish little girl could be so breathtakingly passionate in the bedroom?

And not just the bedroom, he thought to himself with amusement; the visual of their couplings in the Potions classroom and the corridor alcove still prominent in his mind.

Wanting to elicit the best orgasm he could, he was struck with an idea. Severus removed his finger, and pushed his thumb inside her, slipping his forefinger down to her puckered rear end where he began to tickle and stroke. She actually screamed, much to his gratification. Thank fuck that all teachers' quarters were equipped with silencing charms imbued in the very walls.

"Relax," he muttered, removing his mouth from her cunt for a few seconds. "Breathe. Just feel the many different places where I am touching you; and let me have your orgasm when you are ready. There is no rush. Just enjoy."

He slid her engorged clitoris between his fingers, scissoring them around the nub as he flickered his sharp tongue mercilessly on the top. With his thumb twisting inside her and his gentle irritation of her arsehole, it would not be long.

Hearing her gasping and swearing above him, Severus kept up his movements, pushing her bit by bit towards the orgasm that he wanted from her. It was only when she finally went rigid, on the absolute cusp of her climax, that he knew he had her, keeping his fingers and tongue going as the fluid dripped from her, holding her hips firmly so that he did not lose his grip. He was so involved in his task, that it took a while before he became aware that she was tugging his hair, trying to move his head away from her over-sensitive cunt.

"Stop, please," she begged. "Enough."

Half-wanting to lick her to a second orgasm, he reluctantly released her clitoris from his lips, and drew his fingers from where they were dabbling in her wetness, gently stroking her inner thighs as she came down from her peak, not wanting to end the contact with her.

Severus thought that one day he would try to give her a multiple orgasm, for he knew it was possible, if not from a very pleasant source. During Death Eater revels, when the Muggles were being raped, and made to orgasm around the cocks of their tormenters, the female Death Eaters had always managed to force climax after climax from the unwilling victims, pushing them beyond their limits by twisting their red, swollen clits until they had no choice but to come repeatedly, despite their screams of protest. They would then be set upon again; once the jeering crowd had laughed at their helpless predicament, watching their holes contract in climax around the invading cock. Their clits would then start being masturbated by the next Death Eater even as they pulsed with the aftershocks of the previous orgasm.

It was always a despicable show, and one that he had been helpless to stop. It sickened him. But, could he use this ill-gotten knowledge to bring them both extreme pleasure? If he pushed her limits, with tenderness and affection, rather than force, and obviously with consent, could he send her higher than she'd ever been? There was nothing he enjoyed more than watching this succulent little witch shake in orgasm by his hand, tongue or cock.

Severus would think upon it. Probably whilst having a wank in the privacy of his bedchamber, on a lonely night when his arms were empty of Hermione Granger.

-xxx-

Snape's head lay on her stomach, which was still jumping with the final twitches of her orgasm. Hermione stroked her fingers through his black hair, falling in long strands across her tummy, and he seemed to lean into her touch. He was gently caressing her thighs, in a way that was sensual rather than sexual.

After a while he sat up, banishing the tray of wine and cheese to a side table, and dousing the candles, leaving the fire on a low burn before summoning a huge, soft blanket to cover them both.

"You don't want to …?" she started, thinking that they would be having sex.

"Are you satisfied?" he replied.

Hermione could not help the smile creeping to her lips.

"Well, yes, very much so, but …"

"Then so am I, Hermione. I would be very happy if you allowed me just to hold you, as we were doing earlier."

"I'd love that."

He joined her on the neighbouring pillow, wrapping them both in the blanket, and leaving their thin dressing gowns open as they were, as if he did not want to disturb where she lay. Finding his hands, Hermione drew them nearer, encouraging him to fold his arms around her as he'd done earlier, before doing … all those things that had made her come so hard.

Sneaking a look at him, she saw that his eyes were already closed, although he was unlikely to have fallen asleep so fast. Even at rest, the magical power emanated from him so strongly that Hermione swore she could feel it, and it felt protective, and comforting, not that she needed protection. But just because she didn't need it, that didn't mean she didn't want it.

This wizard, who had previously terrified and infuriated her on equal levels, was now the first man she'd had sex with, who she had given her virginity to, willingly, and taken his own in return. No one would believe it, even if she told them, which of course she wouldn't.

Just seeing him around the school, hurtling soundlessly down the corridors with his famous black robes billowing behind him, sent a lurch of such force to her stomach that she usually had to take a few deep breaths to quell it. She was excited by him. The danger they'd placed themselves in made her heart race and her chest pound.

Frustrated by the banality of everyday life since the end of the war, and the end of seven frenetic years where she, Ron and Harry had hurtled from one life-threatening disaster to the next; Professor Snape had brought a frisson of danger, the promise of excitement, and the undeniable distraction of sexual activity.

Snuggling closer to this mysterious wizard, and feeling his strong arm tighten around her, Hermione was struck with a worrying thought. Was she … using him? Using him as a neat little pastime to while away the long weeks at school? That would be an awful thing to do to a man who had been through so much. However, the alternative would be that she actually liked him, which was an equally perturbing thought. She was hardly going to finish school, start work and enter the wizarding world with Severus Snape as her brand-new boyfriend.

Was she?

-xxx-

Midweek, and Hermione was experiencing the weirdness of celebrating one's nineteenth birthday whilst still at school. Ginny had been waiting at the senior end of the Gryffindor breakfast table with cards and gifts both from herself and her family. Red ribbons festooned everything – Molly had outdone herself, no doubt compensating for Hermione's lack of parental gifts, just as she had been doing with Harry all these years.

Mrs Weasley's parcels contained homemade chocolate truffles, a wizarding romance novel and a knitted hat, scarf and gloves in a matching set, ready for the harsh Scottish winter, which were actually really nice. There were cards from herself and Arthur, sending much love and congratulations on her birthday, and hoping that they would see her at the Burrow for Christmas.

"Of course, you'll be there with Ron anyway," Ginny scoffed, pulling her mother's card out of Hermione's hands and replacing it with one of her own, a self-made lurid pink affair accompanied by a bottle of perfume. "And this is from him."

Ginny handed her a third card.

"He says he'll give you his present when he sees you in Hogsmeade on Saturday," she said, with a leery wink. "It's a bit too valuable for him to send it with me, apparently."

Oh no. Ronald hadn't bought her any expensive jewellery, had he? He knew she never wore such trinkets, preferring to dress simply and modestly. She opened his card, which had an odd picture of a floral arrangement, something you might send to your grandmother, not your supposed girlfriend.

 

Happy Birthday Hermione!

This is just to say – have a great day, and I'll see you at the Three Broomsticks for lunch on Saturday; twelve-thirty, yes?

Don't be late. 

Happy birthday again! Nineteen!

Ron x

 

Hermione rolled her eyes. As if Ronald Weasley had ever known her to be anything less than compulsively punctual. She would likely be still waiting for him, sipping irritably at her drink, at gone one o'clock. Helping herself to some breakfast, there was a flurry of wings overhead as the entering owls delivered the day's mail, and she saw a strong brown post owl swoop down towards her, dropping a thick golden envelope on the table in front of her.

The writing was clearly Harry's, still as messy as it had been in the first year. Opening the envelope with a smile, for she knew what would be inside – a card, and a generous gift voucher for Flourish and Blotts, which she would make good use of on a shopping trip during the half-term holiday.

What a nice start to the day. Hermione took a mouthful of porridge and made the mistake of glancing around the Great Hall, finding herself locked eye-to-eye with Professor Snape, who looked as if he was being forced to watch something particularly unpleasant.

Ah yes. He didn't do birthdays, did he? Oh well. He wasn't being forced to participate, and she did like birthdays, very much. She didn't have Potions today, so Hermione this would be another day that she didn't see him, and for some strange reason this thought disappointed her, and left her wanting.

What had she expected, for him to break the habit of a lifetime and burst into singing 'Happy Birthday' in the middle of the Great Hall, then present her with a bouquet of flowers? The thought made her giggle, and Ginny had to thump her hard on the back to prevent her choking on the mouthful of porridge that she'd absently spooned in.

Hermione had left Snape's chambers on Sunday morning, well, it had been more like Sunday afternoon, really, when they'd finally dragged themselves apart. They'd awoken late, having missed breakfast and wrapped in the blanket that he'd covered them with the night before. She'd turned to face him, and found the professor already staring at her, his eyes burning with an intense lust that had set fire to the blood in her veins.

With no words, he had moved on top of her, nudging her thighs apart and guiding a hard morning erection into place between her legs. Not breaking eye contact for even a second, he'd pushed wordlessly inside her, stretching her blissfully, and begun a devastatingly relaxed thrusting movement, languorously in and out, in and out.

She'd placed her hands on his naked shoulders, pushing the thin robe down his back and squeezing the firm muscles of his upper arms, feeling them flex and release as he made deliciously slow love to her, his hips curling and rotating against her own.

The desire in his black-hot gaze seared her own eyes, and try as she might, Hermione could not close her eyelids, not wanting to erase the sight of this dark wizard labouring above her, his inky hair hanging loose around his pale face, undulating with the same rhythm that his body was. As Snape neared his climax, she had watched how his features changed; his jaw became set and his teeth clenched behind his lips - an unseen, urgent need pushing him further and further.

When he came, he uttered a gasp of sheer relief and fell forwards, murmuring her name and stroking her hair with thankful reverence. It had been the first words that had been spoken, and the intensity of the wordless lovemaking was not lost on either of them. It had been very easy for him to simply remove himself from inside her, move to the side, and for them both to fall back asleep once more, only woken by the lunch bell.

After that, she opted to return to her room via the Floo, to shower and then to head for the library for the rest of the afternoon, to ensure that all her homework had been completed, and to undertake extra study, of course.

The last contact they'd had was when Snape had held her face in his large hands, standing before the fire in his sitting room, as he kissed her lips with a tender farewell. No words. Just that kiss. Perhaps he had spoken too much the night before? Hermione knew not. But she would not see him today; and should not expect to. He was still Snape, after all.

The bouquet of flowers did arrive, however, so huge that they hid the grinning face of Neville Longbottom, who had clearly harvested them from one of the greenhouses that morning; blooms of all sizes and colours, with a red ribbon tied around the stems. As he walked towards the Gryffindor table, Hannah jumped up and joined him, passing Hermione a birthday card, and a gift box of Honeydukes' fizzing sweets.

"They're both from both of us," she grinned, seemingly thrilled to be giving a joint present with her new boyfriend.

Hermione thanked them both warmly, thinking she would have to leave breakfast early to get the flowers back to her room and into a vase, before the bell rang for the start of first period.

-xxx-

In her pyjamas and ready for sleep at the end of her birthday, Hermione touched the soft petals of Neville and Hannah's brightly coloured flowers; and popped the last of the fizzy sweets into her mouth, knowing that she would have to clean her teeth before bed, for years of lecturing about sugar damage were too much to ignore.

What would she give, to hear one more lecture about cavities? How much did she want to be wrapped in the warm embrace of her mum and dad, enjoying her position as their precious only daughter? A second birthday had come and gone with no word from them, not that Hermione had expected it, of course she hadn't. Richard and Jean Granger were no longer aware of her existence.

She startled as the Floo glowed green, and Snape requested entry to her room, which she agreed, stepping over to the hearth rug as he cleared the grate in one long stride.

He was casually dressed, wearing no coat or robes, probably due to the lateness of the hour. The white shirt was open at the neck, revealing a large portion of the ugly scar that had almost claimed his life. In his hand, he held a book, tied with a dark green ribbon that was clearly conjured, for it sparkled with magic.

"For your birthday," he said, gruffly, holding the book out to her.

"Thank you," she replied, taking the offered parcel. "But, I thought you did not participate in birthdays?"

"I don't."

"What's this, then?"

"You are the first, Miss Granger."

Wow. Hermione was astounded that he had done this; and the awkwardness in his posture, the uncertainty in his face, was a bizarre difference from the arrogance of his classroom persona. She needed to be careful to react appropriately, lest she destroy his very first present giving.

Pulling open the wide magic ribbon, however, she could see the familiar cover of a brand-new copy of Advanced Potion Making, their NEWT textbook. Well, that was an odd gift, but Hermione wasn't really sure what she'd expected. Perhaps he thought she needed a new, pristine copy? Shit, now she didn't know what to say.

"Thank you, Sir. That's really lovely."

"Don't be puerile, Granger. Open it."

The green ribbon hanging from her fingers, she opened the front cover of the book, and turned to the first page.

This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince.

What the hell?

Hermione flicked through the pages, the bound parchment yellow and old, every single one annotated with hints, corrections, self-devised spells … in short, everything that had made Severus Snape a true Potions master. She looked up at him, utterly confused.

"I retrieved that book from the Room of Requirement on the same day that Potter hid it there. He offered me the information as to its whereabouts, right there at the front of his mind, as I questioned him over his attack on Draco Malfoy. Might I suggest that you do not use Sectumsempra?"

She smiled, turning the book over in her hands. The innards were all his old book, but the outside was a brand-new cover, so that to anyone else it would appear a normal textbook, purchased from the bookshop. Snape had provided her with an absolute goldmine of information, teachings that she could never have hoped to receive. The results of years of his own hard work and ferocious studying, all given to her. What an amazingly thoughtful and generous gift. It was truly one of the best presents she had ever received.

He was still standing there, awkwardly.

"I am not familiar with gift-giving protocol," he explained. "I can only presume that the notion is to provide the recipient with an item they do not already possess. I know very little about you, Hermione Granger, other than your thirst for knowledge. I trust that you will make better use of the information contained within, than your friend Potter?"

"I will. And Sir … Severus. This is a wonderful gift. Truly. It's better than anything you could have purchased in a shop. You've given me a valuable piece of your knowledge, and you don't know how happy you've made me, by gifting it."

"Show me."

"I'm sorry?"

His mouth twitched at the corners, and he leaned in towards her, placing his lips close to her ear.

"If I do not know, then show me, Hermione, how happy I have made you."

He needed her affirmation, and she was only too pleased to give it. Slipping her arm quickly around his neck, Hermione pulled his head down and grabbed his mouth in a surprise kiss, moving her lips so that he opened his mouth to her, allowing her to slide her little tongue inside and provoke the serpent within.

He did not leave her room for another hour, the precious birthday book set on a side table, the magical green ribbon coiling around it like a protective snake, just like the gift-giver, who was doing much the same thing with the recipient.

-xxx-

Waking up in a bad mood on Saturday morning, mostly because he'd not been able to have Granger in his room the evening before due to some errant Slytherins that had opted to cause chaos during his night patrol, that had ended with two fifth-formers in the hospital wing and a third in detention for the rest of this half term. For fuck's sake. You think that at nearly sixteen these dunderheads would know better. Apparently not.

The miserable day loomed ahead, and he was anticipating it like a dose of dragon pox to the testicles. He was on Hogsmeade supervision duty, courtesy of Minerva, and were that not enough, he had to undertake the duty with the predatory Andrea Masters, who had been suspiciously quiet since he refused her offer of marriage. Severus wondered if she was planning to approach him again during the Hogsmeade visit, as he did not believe that she would let her grand plan drop so easily.

He stalked down the long road that led from Hogwarts castle to the all-wizarding village, a throng of students behind him, trailing in his wake. The weather was fine, and he was already too hot in his usual armour of coat and cloak. When they reached the shops, he indicated with a terse nod of his head that the students may go ahead, and Andrea approached him, for she had been bringing up the stragglers at the rear, mostly unworldly third-years who were on their first Hogsmeade visit.

"So, what do we do here, Severus?" she asked, brightly, a smile on her admittedly rather attractive face.

"Our remit is to ensure that none of the students stray out of the village, cause any trouble in the streets or shops, and to provide a point of contact should they encounter any problems," he replied, not returning her smile.

"I see that most of them have headed straight for Honeydukes. Would that be a good place to start?"

"If you wish," he said, lazily. "Most of them fall upon the confectionary like locusts."

Except Miss Granger, he had noticed. She had turned sharply left and entered Scrivenshafts, an exquisite shop that sold artisan quills alongside the normal ones, and all manner of parchments, inks and other stationery items. Perhaps she'd eaten too many sweets on her birthday, he thought, grinning internally, although his face remained grim. He'd noted the familiar pink-and-white striped Honeydukes box on her desk, the night he'd delivered her gift, and tasted the sweet sugar of Fizzing Whizbees on her tongue when she'd kissed him.

How deeply she had kissed him to thank him for the book … her velvet lips stroking his, and her clever tongue teasing violent reactions from his own. His dick twitched at the memory of snogging this outstanding girl in her own bedchamber. And the rest. He'd returned to his chambers an hour later, sated and exhausted.

"Shall we arrange to meet for lunch in the Three Broomsticks?"

Andrea was still there, and looking at him, inviting him for fucking lunch, of all things. Severus was taken aback. How did she know that the supervising professors would luncheon together in Rosmerta's pub? One of the cackling old crones back at the castle must have told her. Shit.

"If you wish," he answered, nonchalantly.

"Of course I do! We have much to talk about, Severus. A relaxed atmosphere, outside of the school, could be just the place to come to a sensible resolution of our current conflict."

Andrea squeezed his arm in an overly-familiar gesture, before heading across the narrow road towards Honeydukes. He sighed; and wondered if it was too early to go and order himself a large firewhisky.

Severus pushed open the low wooden door of the Three Broomsticks, ducking his head and entering the familiar pub with something approaching pleasure. He would just sit here and drink, ostensibly cups of tea, but maybe with the odd chaser thrown in, and let Andrea Masters run around the village after the students.

Ordering both from Madam Rosmerta, he sat at a window table so that he had a good view of the street outside; and unfolded his newspaper that he'd brought from the castle for just this purpose. The owls still delivered his Daily Prophet each morning.

It would have been a fine plan, had not the ginger head of one Ronald Weasley entered the pub, ordered two Butterbeers and sat down at the next table, not noticing Severus, and opening a Quidditch publication before slurping deeply from his bottle.

What the fuck was Weasley doing here, on a school exeat weekend?

Severus had a sinking feeling that it involved Hermione Granger.


	17. Chapter 17

Hermione entered the Three Broomsticks a few minutes after half past, to immediately see Ron at a table, good-naturedly tapping his watch as she approached him. He smiled broadly, and stood up to hug her, which she happily returned, for he was still her best friend, along with Harry. Any doubts that she might have had that she still fancied him, were lost as soon as he drew her into his usual bear hug. It was just like it had always been, just a friendly hug, nothing more. When Ron released her and leaned in for a kiss, Hermione turned her face awkwardly to the side, feeling his lips fall on her cheek instead of her mouth.

They felt soft and squishy, not at all like kissing Professor Snape. Hermione knew instantly that she did not want those lips attached to hers again, not ever. She wanted Snape's dark maturity, the sense of danger, and craved the way he made every part of her curl with desire.

The very thought of what she had been doing for the last few weeks made her blush with embarrassment as her two worlds collided – the safe familiarity of Ron, contrasting with the dark danger of Severus Snape. Not that she regretted anything she'd done, not one bit, but to be faced with Ronald Weasley after she'd repeatedly been having sex with Professor Snape was just too strange for words.

"Hey, where's my kiss?" he chided, trying to move his head to capture her lips, whilst Hermione continued to evade him.

"Not here, Ronald," she hissed, extricating herself from his arms and sitting down at the table from where he'd risen.

And then she saw him.

It was Snape, sitting at the window table with Professor Masters, looking extremely deep in conversation, and he did not look at all happy. Hermione tried to catch his eye, but he appeared to be completely focused on what his colleague was saying, and she wondered if he'd noticed her, here with Ron. She'd sat down with her back facing Snape and Masters, but Ron insisted that she get up and swap seats with him.

"I don't want to eat my lunch looking at that greasy git," he whined, loud enough for a few other tables to hear.

"That's very rude, Ron," she admonished, taking his seat and realising that she could see her dark-haired, forbidden lover clearly to the right side of Ron's head.

"I don't care. I'm not a student here anymore, and I'll say what I want. I ordered lunch, the usual pies and Butterbeers, ok with you?"

Hermione nodded, not really caring what she ate, as it was unlikely she'd be able to taste much, anyway. They'd always used to come here on Hogsmeade weekends for Rosmerta's excellent pie and mash, washed down with Butterbeer, but she honestly didn't care, right at that moment.

"So, how have you been?" she asked, conversationally.

"Good," he smiled, chugging a gulp of his drink. "George is letting me have loads of responsibility in the shop, and its great working there, different people coming in every day, and the new products are brilliant. What about you, you must be bloody bored still at school?"

"Not at all," she replied, suddenly realising from Snape's subtle shift in position that he was listening to her every word. "I enjoy the work, my courses are wonderful, and the best thing is having my own room, which means peace and quiet whenever I want it. I especially enjoy the weekends, when we are allowed to order breakfast from the fireplaces in our rooms, and laze in bed for the morning. Those are my very favourite times of the week."

She couldn't be sure; but would place a few Sickles to wager that she'd seen the slightest glimmer of a smile curl the corner of the professor's mouth.

"You can order whatever food you want, through the Floo? That sounds amazing," he replied, not mentioning her NEWT courses or her studies at all.

Their lunch arrived, and Ron began hoovering it up, as he always did. Hermione took up her knife and fork and attempted to eat, trying her very best not to stare at Snape over Ron's shoulder. To her utter surprise, Professor Masters reached across the table and took hold of his hand; and appeared to squeeze it.

Snape yanked his arm back as if she'd burned him, glaring furiously at the teacher sitting opposite, and began to speak to her, his mouth barely moving, but his eyes full of rage. Was he admonishing his colleague for the gesture? Why would she have presumed to touch him in the first place? Was there … something between them?

Surely not, for Professor Snape had told her that there had never been a witch in his life, and he didn't seem at all keen for Professor Masters to be touching him.

She suddenly wanted to ditch Ron immediately and find out what was going on, for the small talk over their food was becoming excruciating. When Rosmerta had cleared their plates, her own half-finished, Ron reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, gift-wrapped box, placing it on the table between them, and smiling, sheepishly.

"That's your birthday present," he told her, rather unnecessarily, leaning forwards and placing his forearms on the table top.

Hermione was hit with a jolt of cold dread. That couldn't possibly be … an engagement ring? The box was certainly about the right size, but surely Ron would not have thought to make such a gesture, being so notoriously clueless.

Hmmm, he might not, but his mother would. She wondered if he had been cajoled into putting a ring on Hermione's finger so as to 'secure' her, for Molly had old-fashioned ideas like that. Making no move towards the gift, she waited for Ron to continue.

"I've really missed you since you've been away at school," he began. "We spent so much time together, you know, after the battle and during the summer. I think I might have taken you for granted a bit, Hermione. I mean, we were snogging and stuff, but I don't think I ever actually asked you to be my girlfriend."

"No," she replied, keeping her tone deliberately neutral. "You didn't."

"I'm sorry about that. I want us to be official now, you know, if you want to. Which I hope you do."

Hermione looked around, helplessly, a slight wave of panic creeping over her. There was nowhere to run. She needed to summon her Gryffindor courage and be fair to her friend. He had done her no wrong, other than not being a dark, Slytherin professor who made her toes curls with one arch of an eyebrow.

"Ron, I …"

She had waited too long to answer, and Ron was already pushing the box across the table towards her.

"Open it," he urged, with an eager smile. "We're going to need what's inside."

Reluctantly, Hermione pulled at the small ribbon, loosening the paper and lifting the lid of the tiny box contained within the parcel, hoping against hope that she did not see the glint of diamonds as she did so. It would be exceptionally bad form to finish with someone just after they proposed.

There were no diamonds.

Inside the box was a small key, and nothing else, apart from the keyring which bore an embossed number three on it.

She looked at him, confused.

"I've booked one of the rooms upstairs," he told her, a broad grin on his face. "I know you've only got a few hours, but that's enough to … well, its long enough to … talk about the future, and about us. And … do other stuff that we can't do in public."

As he smirked, Hermione tried to control the rage that was whooshing through her veins like wildfire; a self-righteous anger that Ronald Weasley had thought that what she would really like for her birthday was a furtive lunchtime shag in one of the rented bedrooms above the Three Broomsticks. For all Ron knew, she was still a virgin! They both were, unless he'd miraculously popped his own cherry in the last month. Was he serious? From the little numbered key that was mocking her from the gift box, it appeared so.

"Are you actually suggesting what I think you are, Ronald?" she began, trying to keep her voice low, lest she embarrass herself in the busy pub.

His face fell, and her friend shuffled uncomfortably in his chair.

"Well, yes. I mean, I was, but not if you aren't up for it, I suppose?"

"Have seven years of friendship taught you nothing about me?"

"I had hoped that we were a bit more than friends, actually," he mumbled, toying with the cardboard mat under his Butterbeer.

"We were. But … no, don't interrupt me," she warned, as Ron opened his mouth to do just that. "We were more than friends. Since what happened during the battle, and after, this summer … but I think that we fell into it. I don't think either of us thought properly about whether we are compatible as a couple, long-term."

"I think we are," he cut in.

"Do you really think that? Or do you just fancy me?"

A sheepish smile tugged at the lips of his oh-so-familiar face. She loved him so dearly. Just not like … this.

"Of course I fancy you. I mean, look at you."

Hermione couldn't help returning his smile.

"Thank you, that's kind. But Ron, I think we fell together because we were both scared, we both needed something, or someone to depend on. I don't think that long-term we are meant for each other. I will always love you the same way I love Harry, as my very dearest friend, but I don't feel anything more than that, I'm so sorry."

She took a deep breath, as she had used all her air trying to get her words out and in the right order before Ron interrupted her again. The smile had left his face, and an ugly look of resentment had replaced it.

"So that's it then, is it? Hermione says it's over, so it's over?"

"That's generally how break-ups go, Ronald. They're never pleasant."

"How would you know? The sum total of your relationship experience is snogging Viktor Krum in the library!"

"That's not fair!" she shot back, and her voice was shriller than she'd intended, making a few heads turn in the vicinity, Snape and Masters included.

"That's not fair," she said again, more quietly, in an annoyed hiss. "It's not like your months with Lavender Brown made you an expert."

"Why would you give up on us so easily, Hermione?" he whined, and she was acutely aware that she'd hurt his feelings.

"Because there is no us! We were never official!"

"What, you need an official declaration to be someone's girlfriend now, do you?"

"Maybe if that someone had had the decency to ask me first, that might have done it!"

"Fine!" he shouted, loud enough for the whole pub to hear. "Hermione, will you be my girlfriend?"

"No," she replied, quietly, and could sense the disappointment of everyone in earshot, who were doing a terrible job of pretending they weren't listening to the two, well-known war heroes, having a public spat. "No, I don't want to be your girlfriend, Ron. I don't want to be anyone's girlfriend. For the first time in my life, I want to find out who I am, what I want – without every moment spent keeping you and Harry alive."

"You snogged me too, you know," he sniffed, grumpily.

"And it was very nice," she lied, thinking how his clumsy, wet kisses didn't hold a single candle to the erotic devastation delivered by the dark wizard sitting just feet away from them.

"I'm going," he said, suddenly, getting up and pushing his wooden chair back with a nerve-shredding screech on the stone floor. "Happy Birthday, eh? Probably best if we're not in touch for a while. Definitely not at Christmas. Have fun on your own, I'll be with my family."

And with that, he stalked from the Three Broomsticks, making sure to slam Rosmerta's door so hard that the bottles jangled behind the bar, and the barmaid looked up, angrily, so Hermione had to give her an apologetic look. The little key that had caused so much problem was taunting her from its jolly box, and Hermione pressed her fingers into her temples, trying to quiet her mind, for she wasn't yet sure if she was upset, or angry.

Someone slid into the seat opposite her.

"Miss Granger?"

It was Professor Masters.

"Are you quite alright?"

"Not really," Hermione replied, with a sad smile. "He, um, he …"

"We all heard."

"Oh."

"You made the right choice. No one should ever feel pressured into that kind of commitment. I suppose things have changed between you, since you've been away at school this month?"

"You could say that."

"The walls of that castle talk, as I have found out," Professor Masters told her. "A new relationship is nothing to be ashamed of, and you have done the decent thing and finished with young Mr Weasley there. He will get over things in time, you can be sure. Wizards always do."

Masters was being kind, and her face was full of empathy and concern, yet Hermione did not trust her. Why had she tried to hold Snape's hand? The question buzzed in her mind like one of Luna's wrackspurts. Why?

"A new relationship?"

"Why, with young Mr Malfoy. You two are quite the item, I hear?"

There was no doubt that Professor Briner had been spreading rumours in the staff room. How highly unprofessional.

"I'm afraid you've been misinformed, Professor. Draco Malfoy and I are merely casual friends. Very new friends, in fact. We only stopped despising each other a week or so ago."

"The deepest love can sometimes spawn from hatred, my dear," she said, in an irritatingly benign fashion. "Now, I suggest you get yourself back to the castle, people are staring, and you must feel awfully uncomfortable. I'll return this key to Madam Rosmerta for you."

Hermione slumped her shoulders. That was probably the best course of action.

"Thank you, Professor," she replied, getting up from the table and using every bit of her control not to look over at Snape, who was like a black thundercloud in the corner of her eye.

As she walked out of the pub into the fresh air of Hogsmeade village, Hermione felt remarkably free. The Ron thing had been worrying her for a while, and it seemed as if a heavy weight had been lifted. He'd been rather unpleasant as he left, but really, had she expected anything more? She had rejected him, and Ronald Weasley famously did not take rejection well. He would be fine, in time, once he had recovered from his dented pride and hurt feelings. If it meant spending Christmas alone, away from the crowded warmth of the Burrow, so be it. She'd just go home to her parents' empty house and spend the whole festive period in her childhood bed with a pot of tea and a pile of books. This would be where Muggle takeaways would come in handy.

Setting up the hill to the castle, she breathed in the crisp late-September air, looking at the greenery around her, and knowing that it would soon be turning to the burnt orange, yellows and reds of autumn. She wanted to talk to Snape … to Severus. What had he heard of her conversation with Ron? Probably quite a bit, if Masters had been correct.

Why had the Defence professor reached for his hand? Hermione knew she had no claim on Snape, of course not, but the sight had irked her, and her jealousy had been piqued, like it or not.

Possessiveness, in something that was not even a relationship, was likely to cause a problem.

-xxx-

"What was that?" he muttered, as Andrea returned to their table after her conversation with Miss Granger, having first visited the bar to hand something from a small box, to Rosmerta.

The empty box, a gift box, now sat in front of her.

"The young man wanted her to step upstairs with him, Severus!"

"I am aware of that, possessing as I do, two working ears. What was … that?" he asked, indicating the small box.

"That was the room key he'd presented to her as a birthday gift."

Severus shook his head, keeping his eyes carefully expressionless. The dunderhead had arranged to fuck the girl in a furtive encounter on a Hogsmeade weekend, and parcelled it up as a gift? Stupid bastard. As if a witch of Hermione Granger's calibre would ever do such a sordid thing … how dare he …

"… and then I told her to concentrate on young Mr Malfoy and forget all about the other one."

Andrea was still speaking. He'd tuned her out completely, having no interest in anything she might have to say.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Draco Malfoy, Severus. Surely you must know that he is Miss Granger's new paramour? Richard told us all in the staff room, last Friday."

"I have no interest in the romantic affairs of teenagers," he chastised. "And I suggest that you do not develop one, either, nor a trust in the testimony of Richard Briner."

"Really? And why is that?"

"The man is a lecher."

"How do you know?"

"Almost twenty years experience, Andrea," he told her, witheringly. "I know."

He pushed his barely-touched lunch plate away, and opened his newspaper, pointedly.

"You don't wish to talk, Severus?"

"To you? No, thank you. I believe that before you were interrupted by Mr Weasley, you had said all you needed to, and plenty more that you did not. As I have clearly stated, I have no interest in this ridiculous plan you have concocted."

"Not even for sex?"

"Are you prostituting yourself to me, Madam?"

"Not at all. A married couple would have regular sexual contact. You are a grown wizard, one with unmet needs, I am quite sure. I might be persuaded to relieve them during the engagement period, and not make you wait until our wedding night."

"Do not presume to make assumptions about my needs."

Andrea leaned towards him, far too close, and he could smell her cloying perfume, and see the layers of thick, but expertly applied, make-up upon her face.

"How long can a man live without sex, Severus?"

"I wouldn't know," he replied, airily, shaking out his newspaper again, hoping the conversation would finally be over.

"So, who are you sleeping with, then, all alone in that cold, draughty castle, full of teenagers and old crones?"

That was enough. Snape folded his newspaper and secreted it inside his cloak, before taking out his coin purse and leaving enough Galleons and Sickles to pay for his meal and drink, on the table before her. He leaned down, putting his mouth very close to her ear.

"That, Madam Rookwood, is none of your fucking business."

He left her sitting in the pub; and did not look back. Instead, he stalked up and down the streets of Hogsmeade like a black wraith, daring any student to cross his path or disobey the rules of the school exeat. The sooner this sodding duty was over, the sooner he could return to the castle, and attempt to seek the company of the only witch he desired.

-xxx-

Hermione was sprawled on her bed with the novel that Mrs Weasley had sent for her birthday, when she heard the crackle from the fire that preceded the green glow of the Floo. Her connection was always open to him now, and within a split-second his dark form had stepped over the grate of her fireplace, concern etched upon his face. Snape approached the bed, wordlessly, and sat down next to her, placing a hand on her hip where she lay on her side.

"I came as soon as I could," he said, quietly.

"I'm fine," Hermione reassured. "No harm done. It was a bit embarrassing in the Three Broomsticks when it all got a bit loud, but I did what I wanted to do, which was to clarify to Ron that we were not in a romantic relationship."

"Why did you do that?"

"Because I do not wish to be Ronald Weasley's girlfriend."

"And do you wish to be …?" his deep voice trailed off before he'd finished the sentence, and he glanced away from her, embarrassed, as if the wall behind her bed had suddenly become rather interesting.

"Do I wish to be what, Sir?"

"I shall not ask that of you. It would have been a distasteful question."

She sat up, pushing the book to one side and shuffling across the bed, towards him.

"I really want to know."

"I am sure you wish to know a lot of things, Hermione Granger. But I will not repeat myself."

"That's very annoying."

"I can only apologise."

She couldn't help but smile, and Snape returned it, in that slight quirk of his mouth that she now recognised as his own discreet indication of pleasure.

"Professor Masters seems to think that I'm in a relationship with Draco Malfoy," she offered, changing the subject and hoping to be able to ask the questions she had regarding the alluring Defence teacher.

"So I heard," he drawled, languorously. "Richard Briner was rather enthusiastic in the staff room about his supposed discovery of the relationship between yourself and Mr Malfoy. Andrea Masters is simply passing on the latest gossip."

"Professor Briner disgusts me," she spat, screwing up her nose in distaste. "He insists on leering over myself and Draco, hinting that we are together. I find it unacceptable, and as for what he's told the headmistress about me …"

Snape instantly reacted.

"Told Minerva?"

"He said during the detention that he's told Professor McGonagall that I'm a troublemaker, and all sorts of other unkind, untrue things that I shan't bore you with now."

"I can be fairly sure that Richard has said no such thing. Minerva would not keep something like that silent, do not forget you are her very favourite Gryffindor," he said, with a wry smirk.

"You think Professor Briner is lying?"

"I can be fairly certain of it. Unless you are indeed in a relationship with Draco Malfoy?"

"No," she whispered, grinning, and crawled onto his lap, keen for his touch. "I can confirm I am definitely not seeing Draco."

Snape's hands coiled around her, and he placed them splayed across her back, pulling her close as she straddled him. Feeling brave, she leaned forwards and kissed the tip of his long nose, teasing him in a way she'd never dared before.

"And why, Miss Granger, would you not be seeing such a fine young Slytherin as Mr Malfoy?"

His voice was pant-wettingly deep, and drawled its way around the words, achingly slowly.

"Because," she replied, placing her hands on his shoulders and a kiss on his lips, "I have a fine mature Slytherin that I am already very much … taken with."

"Impertinent wench," he breathed, snatching up her lips with his own and tugging them into a searching kiss, moving his mouth upon hers with increasing fervour.

Hermione felt one of his hands slip down to her bum, cupping it and squeezing her round cheek, whilst the other roved her back like a masseur, providing her with delicious sensations all over. She pushed her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, opening her mouth to admit his eager tongue and circling it with her own. He groaned, more from his chest than from his mouth, and pulled her against the hardness of his hips; the clear beginnings of an erection pressing between her legs, since she was only wearing her small pyjama shorts.

Pulling back after a lengthy snog, she saw that Snape's eyes were flashing black with lust; his lips red, and puffy from kissing.

"I am not your boyfriend, Hermione," he warned, in a low voice that did nothing to quell the desire that was building in her most secret places. "Everything that we are doing, everything; is forbidden. And yet I am unable and unwilling to stop."

"I don't want you to stop."

"Then kiss me, I beg you, for the touch of your lips is what keeps me sane within these walls."

All thoughts of the questions she wanted to ask, about Professor Masters in the Three Broomsticks, flew out of Hermione's mind as he dragged her lips back into a devastating kiss, allowing her to push him backwards onto the mattress, where she leaned over his body and whimpered with pleasure as both his hands flew to her breasts, which were hanging free in her vest top, aching for his touch.

"Fucking hell," he swore, into her mouth as the kiss became messier, slipping his large hands inside her skimpy top to fondle the warm skin of her breasts, and to ply at her nipples, making her gasp as he did so.

"I heard you, Hermione," he breathed, as he touched her intimately, "I heard you tell Weasley that weekends were your favourite time of the week."

"I did."

"Because you are with me, like this, at weekends?"

"Yes."

He made a noise of desperate pleasure, and grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her head down so that he could kiss her again, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth, where it was welcomed and cossetted by her own. Hermione began to undulate her hips upon him, and he returned the movement with a quick, upward thrust of his own. She wanted him, right here in her own bed, and Snape would allow it, she knew he would.

Knock, knock. Knock, knock. 

"Hermione?"

The voice came through the door, sounding urgent and worried.

They stopped kissing, and Snape sat bolt upright underneath her, and held on to her tightly lest she tumble from his lap with the speed of his movement. His reflexes really were catlike.

The frantic knocking sounded again.

"Hermione? Please wake up. Please. I need you."

Neither of them moved.

Knock, knock, knock. 

"Hermione, I'm going to unlock the door with magic. I'm really sorry, but I need to speak with you."

The panic in Snape's eyes must have been mirrored in her own.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get back up to my regular speed of posting! Thank you for all your kind reviews, and your support, it really helps to know that this story is being read and enjoyed. Pouf x

They heard the incantation of an Alohomora being cast, and the surprised squeak of the unwelcome visitor as the spell backfired on her; for Hermione had ensured that her bedchamber door was protected by a magical ward, in addition to the usual castle locks.

"Hold on!" she called, springing from Snape's lap and watching him get reluctantly to his feet, straightening the front of his trousers with a grimace. "I'm coming! You won't be able to open the door from the outside!"

The professor gave her a single nod of farewell, before walking across the bedroom and straight through the fireplace, presumably back to his own chambers. Now, who on earth was at the door at this time of the evening? It wasn't yet curfew, but it was still well after dinner.

It had been a girl's voice, so probably one of her friends? Hermione opened the door to see Susan Bones, her face tear-streaked and scrunching up the yellow Hufflepuff Quidditch t-shirt she was wearing, with apparent anguish.

"Susan? What's the matter? Come in, it's alright. Has something happened?"

Hermione drew the girl into her room and sat her in the armchair before the fire, not wanting to seat her on the bed, which was likely still warm from her tumbling around with the Potions master. The flames of the fire were still glowing green, which meant that Snape had not closed the connection his end, and could therefore hear every word, although she didn't mind. She had nothing to conceal from him, and if he was listening to the conversation, it would save time telling him about it later, if there was going to be a later.

Drawing the wheeled chair from her desk over to her friend, she took hold of Susan's hands. The girl was not crying, but clearly had been.

"What is it? Tell me."

"It's … Professor Briner."

Hermione inwardly rolled her eyes.

"I thought it might be. Has he touched you, Susan?"

"A chance would be a fine thing."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I didn't go to Hogsmeade today. I stayed behind to help him in his private office, he'd asked me for help with some marking and filing … but, I didn't think he really meant it!"

Susan's lip began to wobble as she recounted her tale, and Hermione Accio'd a toilet-roll from the bathroom, thinking that Susan would need something to mop the tears up with, if they fell.

"What did you think he meant? I don't understand, Susan?"

"I thought he liked me, Hermione! I thought that he wanted to spend the day with me in his private quarters while everyone was out of the castle, but no! He only had that bloody Astoria girl at a desk in his office in another detention, and spent more time talking to her than to me! I was like a damn house-elf, doing all his little chores while he ignored me!"

She burst into tears, and Hermione proffered the loo roll, patting Susan's knee in what she hoped what a consoling manner.

"Susan," she said, after a while, allowing the girl to sniffle for a bit. "You must know that Professor Briner is not interested in you … like that?"

"I do now! He was so attentive to me, well, to us, when Hannah and I were always together, but it all changed after she started seeing Neville. Once Briner knew that Hannah was off-limits, he's treated me like nothing but a pathetic lap-dog, chasing around after him for any crumb of attention he might throw me!"

Hermione privately thought that Susan had hit the nail right on the head, although her blue eyes looked up, as if desperate for Hermione to tell her that no, that was rubbish, of course that wasn't happening. When there was no reply, wordlessly confirming her suspicions, Susan dissolved into another round of furious sobs, so loud that they brought Hannah and Neville crashing through the door, which she'd inadvertently left ajar.

"Susan!" exclaimed Hannah. "Where have you been? We've been looking for you everywhere! We even knocked on Professor Briner's door to see if you were still there."

"Like you'd care," snapped Susan, viciously wiping at her eyes with a scrubby bit of toilet paper.

"That's not fair, Susan," said Neville, evenly, striding across the room to sit non-threateningly on the hearth rug beside them. "Nothing that Briner has done, or hasn't done, is Hannah's fault. I know you don't like that he fancies her over you, but you know, that's just how it is."

"Easy for you to say," she muttered, as Hannah closed the door properly and cast a silencing charm before walking over to sit next to Neville on the rug.

"Not really," he replied. "It's not very nice for me to know that some pervert professor has his eye on my girlfriend. It makes me feel pretty sick, actually, and Hannah feels so uncomfortable that she's requested to drop Transfiguration from her timetable."

Susan gaped, and Hermione did too.

"You have?" Susan asked Hannah, who nodded her head, sadly.

"He's a complete creep, Sue. I don't want to be anywhere near him. I know, trust me, I know that you think you like him, but really, you don't. You're just thinking that because of the lack of other suitable boys or men around. Hermione knows what I mean, don't you?"

"Oh, absolutely," she lied. "We are stuck here with a handful of boys our age, no offence Neville, when we should be out in the wider world with a whole plethora of wizards to choose from."

There was a short silence as Susan digested everyone's words.

"I just felt so humiliated. You would have thought I was the one in detention, not Astoria Greengrass. I don't even know what she was being punished for, and she was so rude to him, but it was like the ruder she was, the more interested he became, as if he liked her challenging him."

"That's really worrying," Hermione cut in. "I've been getting on better with Draco recently, I'm going to ask him to speak to Astoria's sister, and maybe one of the Slytherin prefects, to see if they can ensure that Astoria is not being taken advantage of."

"Oh, please don't say I said anything!" Susan begged.

"Susan, don't be stupid. Professor Briner is so unprofessional, and everyone hates him," Hannah advised. "He needs to be got rid of, so that McGonagall can hire a proper teacher. With any luck, it'll happen quickly so that I can get back on the Transfiguration course."

"Did you tell Professor McGonagall that Briner was the reason you were quitting Transfiguration, Hannah?" Hermione asked her, and the blonde girl hung her head.

"I didn't. I just said that the course was too hard. But, I regret that, and if Susan's going to report him, I will too."

"I didn't say I was going to report him!"

"Susan, but …"

"I'm not going to! And you can't make me!"

She leapt up from the chair, stomping across the room and out of the door, slamming it hard. A few seconds later they heard a second door slam, undoubtedly the door of Hannah and Susan's shared bedchamber.

Neville sighed.

"This is madness," he observed ruefully. "After everything that's happened today …"

"I'm sorry, Neville," Hannah said, wrapping her arms around his knees as he leaned back against the bedpost, looking around the small room. "Hey, Hermione. Why is your fire green?"

Shit.

"I charmed it green. Just something I'm working on," she replied, with the fastest lie she could think of. "What else happened today? I didn't see the two of you in Hogsmeade?"

"I took Hannah to see Mum and Dad."

"Oh. Oh, Neville. How were they?"

His eyes began to look a little watery, and his cheeks flushed.

"They weren't great, Hermione. Mum's prognosis is still the same, Healer Strout repeated what she said when you were there, that she's just given up trying to free herself from wherever she's trapped."

"His father was doing well though, wasn't he, Neville?" Hannah added, trying to provide some positive news against the bleakness. "I mean, he wasn't communicating, but the Healer believes he is stable, albeit unaware of his surroundings."

Hermione nodded, sadly.

"How can they live like this, for all these years?" Neville mused. "Nearly two decades in the same room, never going outside, possibly trapped somewhere hellish in their own minds that they can't escape. Wouldn't it be kinder to let them go, to let them be at peace?"

Neither girl replied, knowing that there was no response they could give that would satisfactorily answer Neville's question. It was a hideous, awful situation. It was no wonder that he'd had little patience with Susan's bleatings as she crushed over an unattainable, and frankly quite revolting, older professor.

"Come on, Neville," Hannah said, standing up and taking her boyfriend's hand to tug him to his feet. "Let's go to your room for a while, give Susan time to calm down, and let Hermione get back to bed."

"What?" she replied, absently.

"Back to bed? I'm presuming that you were in bed, since you're in your pyjamas and your bed is all rumpled."

"Oh, yes. I was just drifting off with a book when Susan knocked on the door."

"We'll leave you to it, then. Goodnight, Hermione."

She bid her goodnights to Neville and Hannah, knowing that they would probably spend a large chunk of the night in Neville's room, and good luck to them. Hermione was really enjoying getting to know Hannah Abbott better – the girl was calm, loyal and kind; her inherently Hufflepuff nature a perfect match for Neville's quiet bravery and stoicism. It warmed her heart to see Neville being so well cared for, he was revelling in the attention, the acceptance, and the nurture.

Along with his growing capability in Herbology, the boy who had lacked confidence in his younger years now stood tall and proud, his features handsome, his eyes full of life. As he reached his potential, Hermione thought how heartbreaking it must be to know that his parents would never be able to acknowledge it, never be able to show their pride, as they endured their ghost-like existence in St Mungo's, alive – but yet dead.

-xxx-

"Can I come through?"

Severus was lounging on his sofa, cigarette in hand, when Granger's disembodied voice sounded through the open Floo connection.

"By all means."

In a trice, she was with him, stepping through the fireplace, still in those infernally tiny pyjamas that she'd been wearing earlier. The baser side of his brain wondered if the crotch of those little shorts was damp. He wanted to push his long nose into it and find out, but resisted the urge to be quite so coarse, given the conversation that he'd just listened to.

She did not join him on the sofa, but instead walked around it and stood behind him, planting a light kiss on his cheek and putting her hands on his shoulders, beginning a squeeze that felt rather like a sensuous massage, not that he'd ever received one. Severus closed his eyes, and allowed her to minister to his tight muscles, letting out a small groan of pleasure as her hands moved inside his collar, against his bare skin, and rubbed the sensitive cords of his neck.

Vanishing his half-smoked cigarette, he allowed his head to droop forwards as her clever fingers seemed to find just the right spots to knead out the tension that he held there. Severus felt his jaw slacken and relax; and was glad the sides of his face were obscured by his long hair, since he must look like a mouth-breathing dullard with his jaw hanging open.

Feeling her hands leave his neck and move up into his hair, he rolled his head to lay on the back of the sofa as she carded through the long strands, stimulating his scalp, before moving her hands to his face. That was when he grabbed them, catching both small hands and pulling her forwards, seeking her lips as her mass of curls tumbled down and surrounded him.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" he drawled, letting his lips brush against hers as he spoke.

"I just wanted to touch you."

Astounding. She never ceased to render him speechless, again and again.

"Come here," he growled, casting a levitation charm that lifted her over the sofa and into his lap, making her gasp in surprise.

Her legs joined his, sprawled down the full length of the sofa, and Severus guided the girl to lay on his chest, so that he could wrap his arms around her. Never in his life had he felt so needy of touch as he had done lately, ever since … things had started with Miss Granger.

He could hold her all night and it still wouldn't be enough. Quite to his own surprise, he began to stroke her hair, tucking it behind her ear and feeling the soft skin around it. It was an uncommonly tender gesture, and one that he would have thought silly, until now. Now, it seemed perfectly normal to touch someone's hair, or ear, or to clench the small of their back so that you could feel them pressed firmly against you.

"Could you hear everything?" she asked. "I thought that since the flames remained green, that you must have left the connection open."

"I did," he admitted. "Partly to ensure your safety, but then after that, I must admit to being guilty of curiosity."

"It's alright. I would have told you everything, anyway. Do you have any idea what we should do about Professor Briner?"

He exhaled, deeply.

"It is a difficult situation for me. I cannot in all fairness approach Minerva with concerns that Richard Briner is interfering with the students, when I am doing the exact same thing myself."

"You're not interfering with me!"

"Nonetheless, it will be seen as such. We have always known that our intimacy is strictly forbidden, and we chose to pursue it, accepting the risks of being discovered. However, to report a colleague for suspicions of doing the same thing, when I do not have any concrete proof of his wrongdoing …"

"I will, then!" she interrupted. "He might not have actually done anything yet, but his attitude in class, the way he speaks to some of the students, his filthy insinuations … it's disgusting."

"Indeed, it sounds that way, and you have every right to report him. However, be careful. Do not trust the man. If you are the one who reports him, and he finds a shred of information about what you and I have been doing together, he will not hesitate to destroy us both, I am sure of it."

"I don't care."

He chuckled, darkly.

"Granger, you have much to learn about the world, little lion. Saving wizardkind before you even came of age has given you a grossly overestimated view of how life and society works. Slow down. You do not have to fight every battle yourself. Choose wisely, sit back and observe for a while, do not rush in headlong at the first opportunity. You do not always have to be the hero."

"I wish that you weren't right," she grumbled.

"You are an exceptional young witch, but you must accept that limitations, and the foibles and imperfections of others, and indeed yourself, are all part of life."

"That was cryptic."

"Not at all. I believe you know exactly what I am trying to tell you. You merely do not like it."

She laughed, and he breathed an internal sigh of relief that he'd managed to get his point across without pissing her off too badly. Embarrassingly, his stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly against her.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, sitting up.

Was he? He wasn't even sure. He'd eaten little in the Three Broomsticks, interrupted as his lunch was by Andrea Masters, and had skipped dinner in the Great Hall to return to his private lab to tend the brews he was experimenting with, this weekend.

"You haven't eaten, have you?" she pressed.

"I suppose I have not," he conceded.

She shuffled back, sitting cross-legged between his knees, and looked at him sharply.

"Severus," she began, which startled him a little, since they tended to only use one another's given names during intimacy. "I think it's about time you asked me out to dinner."

He felt his eyes open wider, for he had no clue what this cheeky wench was up to. He suspected he might like it, though, from the gleam in her eye.

"You are requesting that I take you out for dinner?"

"No. I think that going out together might be little premature. However, we could stay in for dinner, right now? If you order some of tonight's dinner through the Floo, perhaps a pudding and something to drink, we could eat properly at your dining table, if you were to clear the parchments from it?"

He continued to stare at her; and wondering what in the name of all the gods he had done correctly in order to have this witch all to himself.

"Hermione. Would you do me the great honour of having dinner with me this evening? You may of course come attired just as you are, for it will save me the trouble of removing copious amounts of clothing later."

She rocked forwards onto her knees, which were inches away from his groin, and pressed her upper body against his.

"I'd love to," she whispered, initiating a kiss that curled his toes with its soft passion.

He revelled in it, for a while, before gently moving her out of kissing distance and fixing her with a stern stare.

"Well then, remove yourself from my lips, witch, so that I may order this dinner."

-xxx-

Hermione made herself comfortable on Snape's battered old sofa; and watching as he leaned into the fire to order their dinner from the Hogwarts kitchens. It was a surprisingly pleasant experience, watching his bum as he bent over, knowing exactly how it felt, bare beneath her hands. Thank goodness it was always covered during school time, with his long frock coat and teaching robes.

He stood up; and turned around to see her smiling merrily at him.

"Yes?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I was just staring at your bottom, Sir. My apologies."

"You leave me without words, Miss Granger," he replied, although she could detect the slightest hint of a smile as he spoke.

He sent a blanket spiralling across the room towards her, before kicking off his boots and unfastening the cuffs of his shirt, rolling them to his elbows, and his black hair was a huge contrast to his pale skin and the stark white of the material. She enjoyed looking at his hands, when they were exposed like this. His fingers were long, and the hair on his forearms leeched slightly down onto the back of his hands. He was all man, in every sense of the word, Hermione thought, thinking of Ron's smooth, pale skin with a shudder.

Summoning his wand, Snape began to clear the piles of books and parchments that currently cluttered his dining table. Clearly, it had not been used for eating in a long time. He worked quickly; sending books back to their allotted spaces on the shelves, ordering sheaves of parchments, some of them spinning through the door that led to his private office, which in turn, led on to the Potions classroom. Several discarded quills followed suit, along with two bottles of ink; one red and one black.

It reminded her of a Muggle film she had watched as a child, Mary Poppins, where the magical nanny had tidied the children's nursery by clicking her fingers, right before their amazed faces. If only Hermione had known then, what she knew now. As it was, a childhood spent as a powerful witch being raised as a Muggle, had been rather difficult.

So much for Mary Poppins; Hermione was now getting the live version, as Snape applied a cleaning charm to the table, before opening a cupboard which spilled crockery, cutlery, napkins and goblets on to the surface, ready for their dinner.

Sending two chairs to sit properly at the table, with a final flick of his wand, he turned, perhaps seeking her approval for his efforts, and Hermione stifled a smirk. It had taken every bit of resolve she had, not to start humming 'A Spoonful of Sugar' as he'd worked.

Their food arrived through the Floo, packaged the same as when she ordered through her own fireplace. He sent it to the table, and then approached the sofa, offering his hand and pulling her up to stand. Hermione saw him swallow, deeply.

"It would give me great pleasure if you would consent to be the first witch I have ever taken to dinner," he asked, gruffly.

"I'd love to," she replied, standing on tiptoes for a second, to peck his lips.

Dinner looked amazing. The Great Hall meal must have been fish in a creamy sauce, sautéed potatoes and mixed green vegetables, followed by a watermelon fruit salad and a pot of melted chocolate to dip the melon chunks in. Her professor poured them both goblets of wine from a bottle he'd taken from his own cabinet, a surprisingly-rich white that warmed her mouth as she sipped.

Hermione dug into her food, realising too late how utterly starving she was. Taking a covert peek at Snape, she was saddened to see that he appeared to take no pleasure in the food, concentrating more on the wine than on the sumptuous dinner in front of him. No wonder he was too slim, and his skin so sallow and pale. He seemed not to nurture himself, at all.

Not wanting to say anything outright, she took a forkful of the fish, added a bit of a potato and speared a couple of green beans.

"Try this," she instructed, holding the fork over to him. "It's completely delicious. The seasoning in the fish sauce is sublime."

He looked suspicious, but Hermione knew he would not refuse her, and he allowed her to put the fork in his mouth, where he took the food from it.

"What spice do you think that is, in the sauce? I can't work it out."

She thought if she could get him to savour the different flavours of the dish, rather than just eating for fuel, listlessly, it might excite him a bit more. He seemed not to be able to work it out, and took a second forkful from his own plate, lifting it to his nose to sniff. Hermione wondered if the smoking had affected his taste buds. She was sure she'd read something to that effect, of nicotine or tobacco deadening ones sense of taste, possibly in one of her parents' dental publications.

As he puzzled over the food, she returned to her own, enjoying everything with gusto, and suddenly remembering what she had very much wanted to ask.

"Professor?"

He looked up, raising that eyebrow at her again.

"Severus," she corrected, smiling. "Can I ask you something?"

"Since when did you ever seek permission to question me, Miss Granger?"

"Hermione," she insisted, gratified to see him put the forkful of food into his mouth, and begin scooping up the next whilst he was still chewing. "I want to ask you about Professor Masters."

His face darkened, although he continued to eat, finishing his mouthful before answering her.

"Why do you wish to speak of her?"

"I wondered, not that its my business, but I just wanted to know … why she tried to hold your hand in the Three Broomsticks, today?"

"You saw that."

"I did. I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for. And of course it is your business. We are regularly intimate together, therefore you have a right to ensure that I am not taking up with other witches at the same time."

"From what I know of you, I don't think you would do that."

"You are correct. Although we are not in a relationship, I feel a commitment and responsibility to you that extends beyond me merely providing you with your contraceptive potion."

She glowed. It was so good to hear that, from his lips. They continued to eat and drink as they conversed, and Hermione was pleased to see that his plate was gradually emptying, if a little slower than hers.

"I have a great deal that I should tell you about Andrea Masters, but now is not the time. I would not wish to sully our meal together by bringing her into the conversation. All I will tell you for now, is that the touch you saw today, was entirely unbidden and unwelcome."

"She wants you."

"I should think she probably does. But let me reassure you that I want only you, Hermione."

There was not a hint of guile or deception in his words, and it didn't even cross her mind to disbelieve him. His reasoning made perfect sense, for she had no wish to discuss Professor Masters over their dinner together, either.

"I heard Longbottom speaking, when he came to your room, earlier. Am I to understand that that his parents' condition is worsening?"

"His mother's is. His father is much the same as he ever was."

"The boy spoke of them being trapped inside their own minds?"

"That's what their Healer believes, the medi-witch at St Mungos. She's been caring for the Longbottoms for many years now. She thinks that Neville's mother has given up trying to escape, that's why Neville is so upset. To imagine being trapped in your own mind for nearly twenty years … it's just too awful to contemplate."

"Indeed," he replied, thoughtfully. "Hermione, tomorrow, after you have shown your face around the school, I should like you to attend my private laboratory, the one attached to the Potions store, of which I know you are aware."

She nodded, chewing a too-large mouthful of sautéed potatoes that prevented her from answering properly.

"I will show you my current research, where I am working towards creating a potion that is able to, in some way, block or reduce the effect of traumas from our past."

"You're joking?"

"I never joke, as you well know," he rebuked, witheringly. "I admit that the idea for this potion initially came from my own selfish desires to escape the memories of some of the … less pleasant experiences of my past. However, I am intrigued by the Longbottoms' case. Would you like to discuss my research with me, tomorrow? I would appreciate your input."

He would appreciate her input?

"Don't look so incredulous. You are an exceptional mind, as I keep telling you."

"Well, yes then. I'd love to. It's a date."

"It is not," he replied, his eyes sparking with a flash of mischief.

-xxx-

Severus looked down, ready to collect his next mouthful, and realised that he had cleared his plate. When had that happened? He didn't even like fish that much, did he? Granger was wiping her mouth on a napkin and looking rather smug.

"I am full," he declared. "You may help yourself to the pudding."

"You don't want dessert?" she asked.

"No, thank you."

"Let me see if I can change your mind," she said, quietly, standing up so that her chest was level with his face.

What was she up to? Severus was suddenly rather interested. The teasing witch pulled off her skimpy top, baring her full breasts before him, and his mouth immediately began to water. Taking the small dipping bowl of melted chocolate, she held it out to him.

"Take some," she urged. "And then, spread it here, to eat."

Fucking hell.

She had indicated her nipples. His dick sprung to attention, and he found himself doing exactly as she had asked. Severus put two fingers into the bowl of chocolate, scooped a little out, and brought the warm, melted mess to her breast, smearing it over her nipple and the surrounding area. It looked bloody amazing, and for a few seconds he simply stared at his handiwork.

Looking up, he saw that she had reached for a cube of the watermelon, and all of a sudden, his mouth wanted it, needed the thirst-quenching sweetness of the fruit. He took it from her hands, and smeared it in the chocolate that he had spread on her tit, before popping the watermelon chunk in his mouth, where it burst as he chewed, spilling cold juice down his throat.

"One more, and you can lick the rest yourself," the girl told him, passing him another cube of melon, allowing him to repeat the same action again.

"Now?" he asked, once he had swallowed the second piece of fruit.

"Now."

Severus leaned forward and took her chocolate-covered, melon-sweetened breast into his mouth, suckling deeply, running his tongue over the little dots of her areola, slavering at her nipple, and licking every bit of stickiness from her firm tit.

Her shoulders were pulled back, holding her breasts out to him, and they were magnificent – pert and rounded, definitely a woman's breasts, not a child's.

"Do you want more?" she asked, not realising that it was the world's stupidest question.

"Obviously."

Granger passed him the bowl of chocolate, and offered her other breast, as yet unsullied by chocolate, and his seeking mouth.

He'd eat a whole fucking bowl of fruit if it meant this game could continue.

His first dinner date was going rather well, he thought to himself, and Severus was suddenly awfully glad that they weren't in a restaurant.

This kind of behaviour might have been frowned upon.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay … Real Life demands. I shan't bore you with my woes. Read on … Pouf x

The following afternoon, when Hermione had been seen around school enough so as not to arouse suspicion regarding her whereabouts, which included attending lunch in the Great Hall, she was ensconced with Professor Snape in his private laboratory, breathing in the soporific smell of the brewing valerian roots, which was one of the active ingredients in the potion he was experimenting with.

It was a targeted Forgetfulness Potion, he'd explained, a self-invented brew that could be taken by a person suffering the extreme effects of trauma, horrific experiences that would render an Obliviation fatal, or seriously damaging.

The base ingredients of valerian roots and crushed mistletoe berries, which she was currently crushing, exactly as he'd instructed, seemed standard in a potion that induced sleep, but it was the addition of the Lethe river water as the active ingredient that really made the creation make sense.

Snape had advised her that the base potion would quieten the drinker's mind, allowing their psyche to become dreamlike, and thus more receptive to illogical changes, and the use of the magically-activated Lethe water would gradually erase those hidden memories that were brought to the fore, those painful thoughts that remain buried at all times apart from during sleep.

"Do you have nightmares?" she asked him, bluntly.

"Every night, apart from those where you are with me," he replied, in a matter-of-fact way that made her heart wrench with grief for this lonely wizard.

"That's terrible."

He shrugged; but did not add anything further. The fact that he was spending his own personal time creating this potion suggested that his mental trauma from his past experiences was greater than she had first expected. When he'd shared the other night, when they were in his bed together after the Quidditch match, he had alluded to an abusive childhood, and that would affect anyone into adulthood, not least someone who had spent the best part of twenty years walking the precarious tightrope between the light and dark.

As she stood at the neighbouring workbench, crushing the exact amount of mistletoe berries and distributing them into the sample pots that Snape had given her, she watched him. He moved around the lab as if it were his domain, his kingdom, which of course it was, Hermione supposed. He effortlessly summoned vials, ingredients, flatboards, daggers – everything he needed, and his preparation was seamless and flowing. The cauldrons were soon emitting thin tendrils of steam, and she watched him push his long black hair roughly behind his ears, so as not to obscure his vision.

With his cloak and coat on the tall stand by the door, she could see her professor's hands and forearms clearly as he worked, those long, dextrous fingers that brought her body so much pleasure were flying around the workbench – cutting, sprinkling, and moving in curious patterns as he incanted over the cauldrons. Snape really was an absolute master of his craft.

She could the marks of old potions burns and scars on his hands and fingers. Those same long, talented fingers that had held tight to her shoulder as she'd attempted to leave the bed that morning.

"Stay."

It was all he'd said. It was all he needed to say.

And she had stayed, wrapping herself gratefully into his embrace, his powerful yet lean arms drawing her back into the enticing lair of his bed.

Sunday morning had started as Saturday night had ended, making love to this unfathomable, dark-eyed wizard, who mystified and enthralled her at the same time.

The previous evening, after he'd licked her breasts clean of the warm chocolate, and Hermione had helped herself to a huge chunk of watermelon that had dripped juice down her chin, he'd remained seated in his chair, regarding her in amusement.

"And where did a young witch such as yourself, learn such an erotic treat?" he'd questioned, arching an eyebrow at her.

"Muggle magazines, I suppose," she'd answered, with a shrug, filching another piece of the mouth-watering red fruit. "There's always something about the delights of dribbling food on your partner, and chocolate always seems to feature highly … and you know, the melted chocolate they served us with supper just gave me the idea."

"I approve."

"There's still some left in the pot."

Those eyebrows had shot up into his head at that point, but he didn't answer.

"Unless you'd rather not …?"

Professor Snape had stood up then, his black eyes fixed on hers with such an intense, piercing stare that Hermione had to struggle not to look away. Without saying a word, he released the belt and fastenings on his trousers, and dropped them to the floor. He was wearing no underwear, and his erection stood proudly, offering her the challenge.

Hermione had taken the pot and dabbled her fingers in the melted chocolate, painting long stripes on his penis, and collecting more to smear around the head. With each touch, Snape's breathing became heavier, and more laboured, until it seemed he could take no more. She'd knelt in front of him, where he stood.

"Now," he hissed. "Please."

Taking hold of his bare legs, she had begun to run her tongue up and down the length of him, licking the lines of chocolate that she had finger-painted there, deliberately ignoring the tip. Beneath her hands, she felt the soft flesh of his inner thighs trembling desperately.

"Teasing witch!"

She took no notice of his exclamation; but did begin to run her tongue lightly around the head, taking little laps of the chocolate.

"Hermione," he warned, stroking her head and twisting up small curls of hair. "You are killing me."

She looked up at him, knowing that she must have chocolate round her mouth, and that he would like the sight. He looked desperate with desire. Capitulating, she took the head fully in her mouth and sucked it clean, licking every bit of the sweetness from every crevice. As he moaned with need, she decided it was clean enough, and slid her lips down the shaft of his penis, beginning to suck him deeply and slowly, and tasting the last bits of the chocolate as she did so. His hand on her head guided her movements, and Snape soon began to thrust his hips a little, swearing softly. He reached down and removed her mouth, gently, pulling her to stand, as he sat back down on the chair, bringing her to stand in front of him.

Snape had taken hold of her little pyjama shorts as soon as he sat, and whipped them down to the floor with one smooth movement, helping her step out of them and leaving her fully naked, as he sat before her in only his shirt.

"Do you think … here?" he'd asked, his voice urgent and slightly cracked.

As she nodded, and leaned in to kiss his lips, he'd pulled her forwards to straddle his legs as he sat on the dining chair, lifting her to create enough space for him to fold his hard penis inside, and then lowered her so that her feet were flat on the floor either side. She'd bent her knees to create movement, and Snape had held her tightly around the back, crushing her upper body against him and kissing her passionately as she slid herself up and down.

All too soon, his advanced arousal meant that Hermione was soon standing still, holding on to her professor whilst he thrust up inside her from his seated position; the chair leaning back so precariously, and creaking so loudly, that it'd been a wonder they'd stayed upright.

But they had, and she'd watched familiar face as he came; how tense he held his features as he pushed up with each spurt of his ejaculation and how his black hair fell in messy strands around his face.

When he was spent, Snape had picked her up where she stood, and carried her into the bathroom, where he delivered her directly into the shower, before joining her there himself once he had removed his shirt. They'd showered and dried in silence, for in truth there was far too much kissing under the pounding cascade of water to sustain any kind of meaningful conversation.

As they'd tumbled naked into bed, he'd reached over to her, insisting that she not go to sleep without her own orgasm, and Hermione had been more than happy to submit to that request, opening her legs and allowing his eager fingers to stroke and fondle her clitoris until she came, panting and sighing as he encircled her in his arms, pulling her close for sleep.

"You climax like Nimue herself, Hermione Granger," he'd muttered, nipping the earlobe that was closest to him, "and I cannot get enough. I am under your spell, witch."

She returned to the task in hand, mindful that for after she'd finished with the berries, Snape had provided her with his research notes to examine, which was a privilege in itself. Hermione passed the berries to the other side of the bench for him to collect when he was ready; and pulled the stack of parchments and small ledger notebook towards her; inking her quill and opening her own notebook, ready to make her own observations on his exciting research.

-xxx-

Severus watched the girl, covertly. He knew she was watching him.

He knew not why, why this outstandingly intelligent, naturally beautiful and sexually potent young witch would be fascinated by such an old scrote as he, but the fact remained that she was, and Severus felt the heat of her poorly-concealed gaze from across the room. It warmed his soul; and stoked the fire that always burned in his gut and his groin when he was around her.

He'd set her the fairly mindless task of crushing the mistletoe berries whilst he got the main brew started, and once it was stable, he would take her through the theory of his experimentation; and show her the results of his practical testing.

It had been a very long time since he'd shared his work with anyone, and even longer since he'd actually wanted to do so. He knew that Granger would pick it all up lightning-fast, and he was, amazingly, excited to hear any observations she might have.

Severus couldn't deny it, the thought of collaborating with her rapacious mind was almost as arousing as fucking her. For too long she had been kept as his inferior, as his student in the classroom, but the truth was, she was far beyond anyone in his seventh-year class. This young witch would be a candidate for mastery-level potioneering, should that be the field she chose. She shouldn't even still be at bloody school.

A prescient thought suddenly poked at his mind with a sharp jab. What was Granger going to do after she left Hogwarts? Severus hadn't thought to ask her, and he wasn't sure if he'd simply presumed something. He'd spilled his own guts with a woe-is-me story about his past; but had learned relatively little about her. He was stabbed with an uncharacteristic feeling of needing to correct that error.

As unusual as it was for Severus to show an interest in another person, he found that he was genuinely interested to know more about this girl who had insinuated herself so thoroughly into his life – with more than a little provocation from him, obviously.

He watched her sift through his notes, scratching out her own observations in a pristine, scarlet-bound notebook with a ludicrously small quill. She'd pulled her bushy hair into a rough mess at the back of her head, although one frizzy curl had already escaped, and it amused him how often she crossly tucked it back behind her ear, only for it to spring forth again a second later.

Without thinking too much about what he was doing, Severus moved silently across the room, stealthily approaching her from behind, where she was standing at the opposite workbench. He stepped directly behind her and cast a cunning little detangling spell of his own creation, which eased out the kinks in her hair, and secured it neatly in a soft knot at the back of her head.

Granger had startled slightly as she'd felt his magic upon her hair, letting her quill fall on to her notebook as she rested her hands on the workbench and appeared to enjoy the sensation of him tidying her unruly mane for her. She truly did look like a lion when her hair was unkempt, especially during lovemaking, and Severus found that he rather liked it. He pulled himself in behind her, pressing the front of his body fully against the back of hers.

"Tidy hair is essential in a laboratory, Miss Granger," he chided, his lips close to her ear as he leaned around one of her shoulders. "Did your Potions professor teach you nothing?"

"My Potions professor taught me many things," she replied, turning her face to catch his lips unexpectedly with hers.

Merlin. Every kiss this girl bestowed upon him was like the first time he'd ever experienced it. Not lingering on wondering why the hell she wanted to kiss him, Severus did not waste the offered opportunity and welcomed her eagerly into his mouth, rolling his tongue around hers and pushing it deeply into her mouth, whilst sliding his opposite hand down her side and rubbing her deliciously round arse over the long, dark-purple skirt she was wearing. He loved that it was the weekend and therefore she was not in her school uniform.

At length, Severus trailed his lips down her face and to her neck, bestowing sucking kisses and teasing licks to the sensitive cords that he found there, enjoying her gasps of pleasure as he did so. He was now grasping both her hips, easing her skirt higher with a creeping movement of his fingers, gradually folding it higher and higher, until he had a handful both sides, and felt the bare skin of her thighs under his fingertips. What the fuck was wrong with him? He'd already had her last night, and again this morning, and here he was once again, both hands up her skirt and his lips locked to her neck.

"I apologise," he rumbled, against her neck. "I meant to take advantage of your formidable brain this afternoon, rather than your body."

She moaned lightly, pushing back against him in encouragement.

"Can't you take advantage of both, Sir?"

"Teasing witch," he sighed, although he could feel his lips quirking at the corners, still pressed to her sweet neck. "Calling me Sir when I have my hands so close to your most secret places."

"Severus …"

This girl was the absolute limit. He stepped back from her and pushed her skirt over her buttocks, finding not some soft frippery of lingerie, but a completely bare arse, instead.

Shocked, but instantly aroused, he grasped one naked cheek hard in each hand, causing her to squeak in surprise.

"And where might your undergarments be, Miss Granger?"

"You seem to prefer it when I go without knickers, Professor."

"That I do," he growled. "That I do; you teasing, tormenting little Siren."

He placed a hand on her back, bending her forwards over the workbench so that her pert white bottom was presented to him in all its succulent glory. Pushing her skirt firmly up around her waist, Severus opened her legs to reveal her, trailing his fingers in the juicy wetness of her splayed cunt, enjoying watching her flinch as he touched her exquisitely sensitive parts.

"I want this," he muttered, gruffly, as he sank two fingers inside her, sliding them as deep as could and loving the squeal she made.

With his other hand he reached further down and sought out her clitoris with fumbling fingers, finding the little bud that he knew would bring her so much pleasure. Keeping a gentle pumping movement inside her, Severus thumbed her clit back and forth until he felt it begin to moisten and harden.

He still couldn't quite believe what he was doing. He had a student bent over a workbench in his private lab, skirt pulled up around her waist and her bare cunt at the full mercy of his masturbating fingers. Granger began to wiggle around on the bench as he toyed with her, so he added his unoccupied thumb to her puckered rear end, massaging the virgin hole deeply, and was gratified to hear her gasp, loudly.

"You like that, don't you?"

She didn't answer, so he increased his movements, speeding up his fingers that were flickering around her swollen clit.

"Answer me, girl."

"Yes!" she gasped. "Gods … yes …"

"When you come, I will see everything," he tormented. "I will watch your tight little cunt spasming around my fingers; and observe all the juices that will drip from you at my touch."

Granger squealed again, writhing her hips as he pulled and tugged at her clitoris, drawing her closer towards the orgasm he wanted from her. He would not take his pleasure, this time, until she had climaxed first. Her hips became rigid, and Severus frigged frantically against her clit, knowing that she was on the absolute cusp of her orgasm.

"Come, little girl," he urged. "Let me have it. You know you want to."

Her scream of release swelled his cock to desperate proportions, urgently trying to free itself from the confines of his trousers. As he rubbed her through her climax, withdrawing his fingers and watching the slippery juices collect around her hole as it pulsed and contracted, Severus muttered a spell remove his lower clothing, leaving him naked from the waist down. His cock was ridiculously hard, considering how much activity it had already seen, in the last few hours, and Gods, he wanted her again, in the worst way.

Not giving Granger a chance to come down fully from her orgasm, Severus pushed inside, her tight walls clenching around his cock feeling like absolute fucking heaven. Keeping her skirt pulled high, he massaged her arse cheeks as he began to thrust, quickly building a fast rhythm, knowing that the experience was unlikely to last long, seeing as he was so fucking over-aroused.

"What you do to me, girl," he muttered. "Hermione."

She said something in reply, but it was so unintelligible that it made him chuckle, and she threw up her hands as if in good-natured defeat.

"This is what happens when you omit to wear your knickers in the presence of the Potions master, Miss Granger," he teased, starting to thrust hard inside the young witch, enjoying the tiny gasps she made with every in-stroke.

"I'll remember that," she shot back, breathlessly, but still able to tease. "Perhaps in my next Potions lesson."

She fucking would, too.

Severus was assaulted with a dozen memories of the ways he had taken this girl, all mingled into one delicious experience as his hips blurred, pounding her hard and fast, bent over his own private workbench. With a huge exclamation; a deep roar that travelled up from his stomach and growled out of his throat like a hungry lion, Severus came hard, shooting his load inside her in desperate pumps. He needed to admit it, he could not get enough of her.

It took him a while for him to come down from his peak, slowing his thrusts to a leisurely stroke back and forth, just enjoying the feel of her tight little cunt hole around his cock.

Casting a gentle cleansing charm over her pussy as he pulled out, Severus guided her to stand, lest she be bent over a solid work surface for too long and begin to ache. He turned her to face him; and gathered her in his arms – one around her upper back, and the other snaking down to touch the skin where her skirt was still pulled high above her bare arse. He genuinely could not help himself.

"You are very distracting, Hermione," he chided, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "But I find myself hard-pressed to care when the distraction you provide is so pleasant."

"Thank you, Severus. I wanted that, too. I need you … like this, more than I expected."

He swallowed, hard, but did not reply, simply holding her, revelling in the sensation of having another human being in his arms.

It was still a discombobulating experience to have her calling him Severus. As for the other thing she'd just said, well, he would have to think upon that.

-xxx-

Less than a week later, Hermione was headed towards Professor Snape's office, the main one, where students were permitted to enter, with an unwilling Neville trailing behind her, hand-in-hand with his girlfriend Hannah. She rapped on the door, flinching at the barked command to enter. Hermione had forgotten how much fear the simple sound of his voice could invoke, when she was so used to hearing it whisper erotic filth against her ear. Neville visibly blanched as she pushed open the heavy wooden door and led them inside.

"Good evening, Sir."

"Miss Granger. Mr Longbottom. And why is Miss Abbott present?"

"Hannah is Neville's partner, Sir. He wanted her to be involved in anything pertaining to the care of his parents."

"I see. Very well. Be seated, all of you."

Snape gave his wand a sharp flourish, and the two chairs that were set before his desk became three, providing seating for them all.

"Mr Longbottom," Snape began, leaning forwards and clasping his hands together in front of him, on the surface of the desk, which was tidy and clear of parchments. "I trust that Miss Granger has advised you of the reason I wish to speak with you?"

"She has," Neville replied, finding his voice but flushing deeply at being directly addressed by the teacher he most feared.

During their time in the private laboratory, where Hermione had been stunned both by the accuracy of Snape's research and the depth of his own personal pain that had necessitated it; they had agreed to tell Neville that she had taken some additional work to the Potions professor for marking; and had happened to find him working on the Forgetfulness potion. Knowing that Neville would understand Hermione's inherent curiosity and propensity to question relentlessly, he would certainly believe that she had questioned Snape about his work until he capitulated, always eager to learn something new.

She had led Neville to believe that when learning about the potion and how it worked, she'd suggested that the targeted Forgetfulness draught might be suitable in the Longbottoms' case, since of course their tragic fate was well documented and widely known.

A tense conversation between them, in Neville's chamber two nights ago, along with a great deal of persuasion from Hannah, had led them here, meeting in Snape's office to discuss whether they could take the research further, and experiment on a human subject, namely, Frank and Alice Longbottom.

No wonder her friend looked terrified. The wizard of whom he was most scared of was about to offer his doomed parents a lifeline, albeit an untested, experimental one.

"It is my belief, Longbottom, that if your parents were to receive regular infusions of the targeted Forgetfulness potion, that after, say, a month, it may be possible, with the use of exceptionally skilled and precise Legilimency, for them to be relaxed and receptive enough for someone to access the part of their mind where they are trapped. I understand that their bodies remain physically healthy?"

"Yes, Sir," Neville replied. "Although Mum is weaker than Dad. Healer Strout believes that she has given up fighting, since it's been so long now that she has been like ... this."

"Then would I be correct in assuming that you would be keen to try anything to help her, even with no guarantee of success?"

Neville shuddered, and scrubbed a hand roughly down his face. Hannah grabbed the other one and squeezed it tightly in support.

"If I don't let you try, Mum will die. If there's the tiniest chance this potion might help, I've got to allow it."

"It's not just the potion, Neville," Hermione interjected. "The potion will calm their minds over a period of time, hopefully enough to allow a Legilimens to enter their minds."

Neville looked up at Snape, his warm brown eyes meeting the professor's cold black ones.

"You're a Legilimens, aren't you, Sir?" he asked. "Harry told me."

"I am, Mr Longbottom."

"Can you do this? Can you find them?"

"I can offer you no guarantee other than I will try."

Neville bowed his head, and Hannah stood and put her arms around him, standing behind his chair and looking at Snape as if he might disapprove, but he seemed not to notice their display of affection, which would normally have had him curling his lip in disdain.

"Do I have your consent, Longbottom?"

With a resigned sigh, Neville agreed, nodding his head, slowly.

"Excellent. In that case, we have much to prepare. Miss Granger, I believe you can leave us now, your role is completed."

He was dismissing her.

Oh well, she supposed she had no further reason to be here, although Hermione felt a little frustrated at not being included. However, that may look suspicious. No one knew of the friendship that had developed between her and the surly Potions master, let alone that they were lovers.

She quietly bid Neville and Hannah goodbye, and thanked the professor formally, not meeting his eye as she left the office, closing the door behind her and stepping out into the slightly chilly air of the dungeon corridor.

Hermione had only turned one corner when she heard raised voices, and once she had turned the next, saw Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass having what appeared at first glance to be an argument, such was the vehemence in their words, but once she caught a few sentences, realised that was not entirely correct, although their discussion was certainly heated.

"Granger!"

Malfoy had noticed her rounding the corner.

"Malfoy. Daphne. Is everything alright?"

"Pervert Briner has my sister in detention," Daphne replied, tersely, a disgusted look upon her face.

"Again? She was only there last weekend, surely?" Hermione said, thinking of Astoria's detention in Briner's office that had so upset Susan as she tidied up like a little house-elf around them.

"Exactly what I said. I've written to mum and dad. I think she's playing up in Transfiguration to get herself in detention with him."

"Why would she do that?" Draco scoffed. "She fucking hates him."

"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?" shot back Daphne. "Just because you want to get your wand under her skirt, Malfoy."

To his credit, Draco had the grace to blush, ever so slightly.

"Whether I fancy her or not has no bearing, if she's being taken advantage of by a teacher."

"Honestly, I don't know what she's playing at. She was as rude as hell to him in that detention we all had, remember?"

Hermione nodded, and Draco looked away, annoyed.

"Maybe its not her choice?" Hermione offered.

"Is he still sniffing around after Abbott?"

"I don't think so. Both she and Susan have withdrawn from Transfiguration, which is such a shame. I can't believe McGonagall isn't questioning it."

"Too busy running the whole school, at her age, to worry about why a couple of Puffs have quit a class, and without clear evidence, there's no point in any of us reporting Briner to her."

They all quietened for a moment, realising the futility of the situation.

"What are you doing down here anyway, Granger? Rather deep in the bowels of the castle for a lion, aren't you?"

"Since you asked so nicely, Draco, I was in a meeting with Professor Snape."

Was it her imagination, or did his eyes glint with a spark of mischief at her answer?

"Private meetings with the Potions master? How very inappropriate, Granger."

Daphne began making ridiculous retching noises, as if the very thought of Hermione and the professor made her want to vomit.

"It was hardly private. Neville and Hannah were there too. Professor Snape may have discovered something that just might help Neville's parents' condition."

Both Draco and Daphne looked a little chastened. Good.

"Longbottom still nailing Abbott then? Fuck, that must piss Briner right off, he absolutely had his eye on her."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Draco's coarse language, especially regarding two people as sweet and gentle as Neville and Hannah.

"They're very much together, yes," she replied, with a satisfied smile. "And if your suspicion is that he is now targeting Astoria, perhaps you should take her off the market too, Draco, so to speak?"

He sneered, although there seemed to be no malice or weight behind the expression, and he jerked his gaze towards her older sister, who looked like a burly Quidditch player, most unlike her small, blonde faerie of a younger sibling. Hermione had never seen two sisters look so different. She wondered fleetingly if they were only half-siblings, but now would be a hugely inappropriate time to ask.

"Go ahead," Daphne told him. "I heard you aren't with Parkinson anymore. But no funny business until after Christmas, Malfoy. Astoria doesn't turn sixteen until halfway through the holidays."

With that, Daphne turned on her heel, and headed back towards what must be the Slytherin common room. Hermione began to walk out of the dungeons, her destination the guest corridor where all the bedchambers for the eighth years were situated. Draco followed her, he must be turning in for the night too. They walked in companionable silence for a short while, side-by-side.

"I don't have to her ask her fucking permission," he grumbled, suddenly.

"Of course you don't," Hermione replied, burying the snigger at his offended tone, thinking that Daphne Greengrass had given her permission for Draco to approach her sister, whether he'd asked for it or not.


	20. Chapter 20

The month that immediately followed that meeting was torturous for Severus, both personally and professionally. Once he'd received Longbottom's permission to experiment with the use of the targeted Forgetfulness potion upon his parents, time became something that was constantly in short supply.

Since St Mungo's were unwilling to administer a potion that had not yet received official Ministry approval, it had been left to Severus to journey to the hospital twice daily to dose Alice and Frank Longbottom – first thing in the morning with their breakfast and again in the evening with their supper. Severus suspected that St Mungo's had abandoned all hope of curing the tortured minds of the former Aurors; and since they presented no 'trouble', were simply ministering to their physical needs as they wasted away in the far corner of the Janus Thickey ward.

It really was a sorry state of affairs, and even though at times it had been difficult to drag his weary carcass to St Mungo's, especially after a long day in the Potions classroom, all self-pitying thoughts were washed from his mind as he entered the hospital ward, his eyes taking in the ghost-like existence of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

Their torturers; Bartemius Crouch Junior, along with Rabastan and Roldophus Lestrange, were all permanently incarcerated in maximum security cells in Azkaban. The fourth, Bellatrix Lestrange, had of course been taken down with great ferocity and passion by one Molly Weasley during the battle of Hogwarts. Severus wished he could shake the hand of the red-headed matriarch, his fellow Order member, for ridding the magical world of such a heinous, dark witch.

Severus had spared no time for Miss Granger, for he'd had none, during the period that he had been administering his experimental potion to the Longbottoms, although his desire for the young witch had not lessened.

He had penned a long letter to her, the night that Longbottom and Abbott had left his office after two hours of discussion regarding the proposed experimentation on the boy's parents.

It was taking the coward's way out, certainly, but Severus doubted that he would be able to explain to the girl, face-to-face, that it was likely to be several weeks before he would have time to see her again, outside of lessons, due to the hours he would need to put in at St Mungo's, meticulously recording every single observation unassisted by the Healing staff.

There had been nights where he had awoken to the grey light of early dawn, still seated in the high-backed armchair next to Alice Longbottom's bed; quill and notebook in still in hand, and a hospital-issue blanket tucked around him, placed there no doubt by Healer Strout or one of her team. By that time there would be no point in returning to his Hogwarts chambers to sleep, so he would cast diagnostics upon the sleeping pair with his wand; and return to the chair for another doze before waking fully and administering the morning dose of the Forgetfulness potion with their breakfast.

After that, he would throw himself through the St Mungo's Floo to his own chambers, taking a cursory shower before changing into clean, but identical, black clothing, not at all rested and facing a full day of teaching ahead with a weary heart.

Still, it was nothing compared to the days and nights of the last few years, where he had served both Riddle and Dumbledore, enduring the darkness of the Death Eaters by night and the rigours of his Hogwarts responsibilities by day. No wonder everyone said he always looked so miserable – he had been permanently fucking exhausted, quite apart from the mental and physical torture, both of which had left him with permanent scars.

At least Minerva knew what he was up to, this time around, and had exempted him from meals in Great Hall until the trial was complete, and ensured that his food was delivered at breakfast, lunch and dinner times. Not that he had much of an appetite. It all tasted the same to him.

More than once, Severus would sit at his small dining table, which had remained surprisingly clear of detritus since his dinner with Miss Granger, and wish for a curly-haired, far too-young witch to be sitting opposite him, encouraging him to find the flavours in his food, or enticing him to delicately lick melted chocolate from her perfects tits.

On those days, the lowest days when he found himself missing her, like a mooning idiot, he would engage in a judicious wank to quell the desperation, for however pleasant the girl was, it was surely only sexual frustration that was causing him pain, and the orgasmic relief would always fulfil him.

Well, almost.

Severus wasn't quite sure what the small discomfort that remained, was, and pushed to the back of his mind the notion that it could possibly be quietened were he only to be wrapped in Hermione Granger's arms, feeling her warm breath against the sensitive skin of his neck and her fingertips tracing small circles on his aching back.

As it was, it pained him to teach her, to have her so close, but yet so damn far away. He was tortured by her presence in the dungeon classroom where they had shared so much intimacy, by the girl sitting in the very desk where he had stood before her to claim his 'prize' after Slytherin's Quidditch win, and she had gifted him with an outstanding bout of oral pleasure, right there, where she now sat …

It was not uncommon for Severus to spend a large part of the seventh-year Potions lessons unable to move from behind his desk, an inconvenient erection preventing him from stalking about the cauldrons of his students as he would usually do.

Did she know? Did she feel the loss, too?

For the first fortnight, he had wondered, until he was marking essays in the small hours, and happened upon Granger's latest offering, a discussion of restorative draughts that went far beyond the length of parchment that he had specified.

At least some things never change, Severus had thought, with the tiniest of smiles tugging at his lips as he began to read her intelligent, capable words, having to correct very little with his red quill that he used for student marking.

As he reached twenty-four inches, where the essay should have been considered finished, Severus was surprised to see a larger than usual paragraph gap, before more writing began, but it was most certainly not part of the essay. He sat back in his desk chair, his red quill now stoppering the ink well, and began to read.

Sir

The essay ended just up there ^^ in case you didn't realise. I worked hard on it – so I hope I get a good grade! This next bit is just for you. 

Thank you for your letter, telling me of your plans to conduct research on Neville's parents. He has been extremely nervous about what you are doing – Professor McGonagall has given him an open pass to visit St Mungo's any evening, but I think he finds it too hard to see them unchanged. I'm taking care of him, and so is Hannah. 

But who is taking care of you … Severus?

I see you in lessons, looking so tired, just wanting to lay you down to sleep, wrapped in my arms. I am worried that you are not taking care of yourself, and I wish that you would let me. I know you feel that you don't have enough time for me, with everything you are doing, but really, why do you have to be so noble all the time? 

Don't think I haven't noticed you staying behind your desk during lesson time. It's probably a good thing, because … I really want to touch you. Very badly indeed. My body misses you as much as my heart. 

All I can say is that you know where I am if you need me. 

Hermione xx

Severus had released his cock from his trousers and wanked himself to a quick, ultimately not wholly satisfying orgasm whilst re-reading the words her small hand had written. After casting Evanesco upon the resultant mess and a Tergeo over his right hand, he began to think. His body missed her too, that was clear. But his heart? Did his cold, unnurtured heart need hers?

Not wanting to ponder too deeply on something he did not have the emotional capacity for, Severus detached the bottom portion of her essay, the piece containing her personal missive, and stored it in a tiny drawer beneath the surface of his desk. Taking out his red quill, he scrawled a well-deserved 'O' at the top of her excellent essay, rolled it up, and placed it in the basket of completed homework assignments, reaching unwillingly for the next scroll that required his attention, and sighing. This was unlikely to be as much fun as its predecessor.

-xxx-

Two more exhausting weeks later, it was time.

Severus' repeated diagnostics upon the Longbottoms had indicated that Frank, at least, had achieved a certain level of mental relaxation that suggested his mind could be receptive to Legilimency. The second half of the experiment could finally begin.

On Saturday morning, Severus was already at the hospital, having administered both Frank and Alice with his targeted Forgetfulness potion with their breakfast, as he had been doing for the last month. He had requested that Neville Longbottom be present when he attempted Legilimency, so that he was close by if the worst happened, and one or both of them passed away during the stress of what he was about to perform on their tortured minds.

The boy would also then be there if one of his parents miraculously woke up, although Severus did not say this, for it would not do to give even the slightest bit of false hope.

Severus and Healer Strout looked up as the hospital ward doors swung open, admitting not only the tall, solid frame of Mr Longbottom, but also Miss Granger, and they were clutching hands with each other as they hurried down the centre of the Janus Thickey ward.

Granger? What the hell was she doing here?

As they approached the end of the ward, to the far-away corner where the ghost couple lay, Severus could see that Granger was slightly flushed with embarrassment, especially when his black gaze flicked between her and Longbottom.

"I need someone here with me," the boy explained, quickly. "Hannah is really unwell with the flu, so I asked Hermione. She's the closest friend I have."

Severus continued to look them both over, as if he had never seen either of them before. Healer Strout had an expression of worried consternation on her round face.

"Very well," Severus replied, in a false economy of words that could not possibly clarify how he felt, right at this moment.

If he was going to fail, it seemed it would also be in front of … her.

"Everything is prepared, Neville," Miriam Strout told him. "Professor Snape was just waiting for you to get here. He's going to just try with your father today, as Frank seems to have responded better to the potion."

Longbottom nodded at the Healer in reply, and stepped to the end of his father's bed, clutching the metal rail at the foot. Thankfully, his mother appeared to be deeply asleep, as she always did.

Severus pulled up a chair so that he was seated on eye level with Frank Longbottom.

"Good morning, Frank", he said, in a stern voice that elicited no response from the man, despite him sitting up and being wide awake, fiddling with a short length of knotted twine.

From the corner of his eye, Severus saw Miss Granger draw back and stand alongside the Healer, rather than crowd her friend with her physical presence. It was enough that the boy knew he had support, but his attentions were focused solely on his father.

Severus had to gain eye contact; and knew from his 'interactions' thus far with Frank, that it was nigh-near impossible to engage the man whose mind was so very far away. There was one thing he had tried, a couple of weeks ago, that had been successful.

"Longbottom," he began, looking up at his student. "In order to Legilimise into your father's mind, I need to gain eye contact. Thus far, I have found only one way of doing this. You may find it a little distressing, but I warn you to keep still and absolutely silent, do you understand?"

The young wizard gulped, but nodded, bravely.

"Whatever you need to do, Sir," he replied. "I trust you."

How the tide had turned. Neville Longbottom trusting his tormentor, his most hated teacher, his fucking Boggart, for Merlin's sake. The boy really had no other option, Severus reminded himself.

Nodding curtly, Severus drew his wand alongside his face, ready to cast. Quick as a flash, he darted out his other hand, and wrenched the knotted twine from Frank Longbottom's hand, eliciting a cry of pain from the man, and his eyes followed the path of his lost treasure.

Severus had already draw the twine to his own nose, and when Frank's eyes met it, he cast.

"Legilimens!"

-xxx-

Where the hell was he?

Severus was standing ankle deep in muddy, mulched water, rather like a dirty beach would look like just after the tide went out.

It was dark, although he could see well, thanks to an eerie yellow light that seemed to be penetrating from somewhere high above, casting hideous shadows in the all-pervading darkness.

Everywhere around him was the mulchy ground, surrounded by rocks of all shapes and sizes, covered in wraithlike strands of what appeared to be black seaweed, stuck to the jagged rocks' surfaces as if they were trying to smother the very breath from the stone beneath.

He looked left and right, and then behind him. From every angle the view was the same.

A whimper rang out across the desolate space. It was a noise full of pain, of distress, of sheer exhaustion.

Severus cast his eyes around for the source, and in the distance, he could see the form of a naked man atop a large rock, laying in a foetal position, but seeming to be trying to push himself upwards.

Not wasting a moment, Severus strode out through the cold, squelchy surface towards the man, for this was surely Frank Longbottom, since it was his mind that Severus was inside.

"Frank!" he called out, his commanding voice seeming to get lost in the expanse of black air between them. "Frank Longbottom!"

Severus saw the man lift his head in the direction of his voice.

"Frank!" he shouted, again, wanting to keep the man's attention. "I am coming for you. Do not try to move!"

When he reached the rock, Frank had already pushed himself to a seated, but slumped position.

"Are you Frank Longbottom?"

The man stared, his eyes wide open with both hope and fear.

"Are you one of them?" Frank answered, his voice hoarse and pained.

Severus knew immediately who 'them' referred to.

"I am not. I am Severus Snape, I am a professor at your son's school. I have come to help you, Mr Longbottom."

Frank jerked his head upwards, his blue eyes dull and wasted, and filthy, wet hair sticking to the sides of his face.

"My son? My baby son?"

"Your son is not a baby any more, Frank. He is of age; and is in his final year at Hogwarts."

Longbottom's exhausted face contorted in painful shock, his dry lips falling open and those defeated eyes full of distress, although no tears fell.

"My baby, Neville, a grown man? But how?"

Severus took a step towards the rock, the cold water chilling his ankles, and the brittle cold of the air wracking his chest. How Frank Longbottom was still alive, he had no idea, if this bleak, watery wasteland was where he had been living, trapped in his own tortured mind, for the last seventeen years.

"I will tell you everything, I promise. But first, I must get you out of here. Would you allow me to help you?"

Frank shook his head slowly from side to side, not refusing, but looking around at the shallow, muddy pools of water that surrounded him.

"I have been here for such a long time," he mused. "These waters, they used to be much higher, as high as the tallest rock, over there. Vicious waters, black as the darkest night, filled with daggers and hate and evil. The waves … they were so high … so strong. I could not escape them, could not escape this place. I tried, at first. How I tried! But eventually I just settled for staying alive."

Severus did not reply. He needed to allow the man to talk, or he would not come willingly. The researcher, the academic inside him was also hideously fascinated at this privileged glimpse inside the brain of a Cruciatus victim driven insane by the curse. The knowledge gained here would assist in his experiments. It seemed the brutal and incessant torture that Frank Longbottom had received, had manifested as this, this cruel and bleak sea inside his own mind. During the years that he had been a prisoner here, the scene must have developed into something so truly terrifying that escape would have been impossible.

If he were successful in guiding Longbottom from inside the incarceration of his own mind, Severus resolved never to tell his son the condition in which he had found his father. There were some things that best remain a secret, forever. If the Forgetfulness potion had worked as intended, Frank would remember nothing. But, that was an awfully big if.

"Sometimes the waves would knock me into the water," Frank continued. "It would be so cold, that I thought I would die. I would be thrown against the rocks, until finally I would be able to climb upon one, to rest awhile, before the demons attacked again."

"The demons?"

"The ones that live in the water."

Of course, there were demons in the water. Of course, there were ice cold waves that had swept this man under their frozen mantle and tried to choke the life from him. This was the dreamscape of Frank Longbottom's tortured, insane psyche.

"They're not there anymore," Frank told him, quickly.

"They are not?"

"The waters are not there. The waters began to fall, and the demons were swept away … to wherever the black waters are now. All I see now, are the puddles you stand in."

Frank looked over the side of the rock to where Severus' feet were standing in a gloopy puddle of what appeared to be wet, black sand.

"When did this happen? The waters receding, I mean?"

"Not long ago," Frank answered, trailing off and looking around him again.

The potion. 

The targeted Forgetfulness potion that Severus himself had toiled so hard over.

Its aim was to relax those parts of the mind that had been subjected to life-altering trauma; and cause them to forget what had happened. Had it worked? Was the receding of the mental waters in Frank Longbottom's mind due to his ingestion of the potion for the last month? It had to be. He began to feel an excitement that seemed inappropriate at the current time.

"Frank," Severus said, sharply, making the man look at him. "All this desolation that surrounds you, does not exist. You have been trapped inside your own mind, which was dreadfully damaged, for many years now."

"This isn't real?"

"It is not. We can return you to the living world, Frank; and to your son, if you trust me to take you?"

Severus held out his hand to the thin, naked man, who was sitting fully upright now. His blue eyes still betrayed those twin emotions of both fear and hope. Slowly, very slowly, he held out his hand, and Severus took a firm hold of it.

"Wherever you take me, it cannot be worse than the hell of being here," the exhausted man replied.

Severus, feeling the ice-cold clutch of desperation in Frank's grip, cancelled the Legilimency spell, and fell back into the hospital chair with the sheer force of his exit, his head hitting the hard backrest and hearing a gasp that he was certain was from Miss Granger.

He was still holding Frank Longbottom's hand – he must have taken hold of it physically, as he had done mentally, inside his mind.

Breathing hard with sheer exhaustion, he looked up at the man's face.

Frank Longbottom's eyes were closed.


	21. Chapter 21

Hermione was aware that she was holding her breath; and clutching the arm of the plump Healer Strout for support, as Professor Snape broke the Legilimency connection between himself and Frank Longbottom, and his head crashed against the high back of the chair in which he was seated.

Neville had been on Hermione's other side a split-second previously, but at the sight of Snape leaving his father's mind, he had rushed around to the end of the bed, where he was now nervously perched, leaning forwards, looking at his father who was sitting up straight in bed, his eyes screwed shut as if he were suffering from a particularly nasty migraine.

They had been here, in this strange sort of limbo, for hours. Snape had entered Frank Longbottom's mind in mid-morning. Now, Hermione could see the sun beginning to sink below the horizon from the hospital's tall, thin windows. The Legilimency connection had been sustained this entire time, for the two wizards had not broken eye-contact with one another. It was so strange, to see Snape's achingly-familiar black eyes open and focused, but yet unseeing.

It had been a long day. She, Neville and Healer Strout had covered each other for toilet breaks, to ensure that Snape and Frank Longbottom were not left alone, but other than that, none of them had left the bedside. Lunch had been delivered for them all, and fed to Alice by her son, but there was no way that either Snape or Mr Longbottom were capable of eating - their eyes locked together, communicating by the connection of their minds alone.

What were they doing? Were they together, wherever they were? Legilimency was something she had absolutely no experience in.

Sometimes, Frank Longbottom's face would contort in pain, or he would let out a cry of anguish that had her rushing to Neville's side as if he were the wounded one. Hermione would hold her friend tightly, feeling the fear and heartbreak coursing through his tall, solid body. At other times, Professor Snape's lips would begin to move, fast and urgent, as if he were delivering a speech that needed to be heard in the shortest possible time. He was talking, but yet they could not hear him, could not understand the information he appeared to be so desperately trying to impart.

Healer Strout was long past the time when she should have finished her shift and left the hospital, when Snape finally broke the connection. Quickly recovering his composure after hitting his head on the back of the chair, he looked at his and Frank's conjoined hands, the man's closed eyes, and then up at Neville. The pale face of her Potions professor and forbidden lover looked drained and haunted, and Hermione was unsure whether this indicated success or failure.

Snape gently extracted his hand from the clutch of Neville's father.

"Open your eyes, Frank," he said, in a quiet, even voice. "You are home."

Every one of them held their breath.

To their utter surprise, Frank opened his eyes, blinking as if he were in a room of bright sunlight, rather than a dim hospital room at dusk. It was not unusual for Frank to be in this ward, eyes open. After all, he had lived here for years – eating, existing, fiddling and fumbling with small, mindless amusements. But had he ever really seen this room before?

He looked at Snape, and then down at his own body.

"I am … am wearing clothes," he stumbled, his voice sounding weak and rusty.

Neville let out a small, choked cry at hearing the sound of his father's voice, for the first time, for he had only been a baby when Frank had been incapacitated. Hermione stepped over to her friend and held his shoulders tightly in support, and she felt his hand clutch hers, hard. He was shaking.

"Indeed you are, Frank," Snape replied. "I told you, that where you have been trapped was not real. Your body has been here, all the time. Clothed and well cared for."

"There is no pain."

"There is not. Physically, you are healed."

Frank Longbottom, only a few years Snape's senior but seeming much older, continued to stare at the professor's face, as if holding on to the one thing he believed to be real. Looking over her shoulder, Hermione could see tears streaking down the face of the Healer who had cared for Frank all these years, tears of hope and joy that she was silently dabbing away with a ragged white handkerchief.

"Severus, you said your name was?"

"That is correct, Frank. I am Severus Snape, a professor at Hogwarts. I am your son's teacher."

Frank licked his lips as if they were parched, and Snape handed him a glass of water, from which he took a few small sips to moisten his mouth and vocal chords before passing it back.

"Severus, where is my son? Where is my baby boy, Neville?"

"I'm here, Dad."

Frank continued to stare at Severus, and at first, Hermione was unsure if Frank had heard Neville speak.

"Do not be afraid, Frank. Turn around; and meet your son. He has been waiting a very long time to make your acquaintance."

Agonisingly slowly, Frank turned his upper body towards where Neville was seated on the end of his father's bed. It was at this point that Hermione could see that Frank's eyes were brimming with unshed tears, that began to fall freely as he came face to face with the grown man that he'd last looked upon as a tiny baby.

"Neville?" he croaked.

"I'm here, Dad," Neville repeated, moving up the bed and holding out his hands.

Frank grabbed them, examining his son's hands, turning them over and stroking them, tears dropping onto Neville's palms.

"My god," Frank mumbled, inhaling a sharp breath. "Good god. My beautiful boy. My only son."

Frank looked up, and the father and son's eyes met in recognition for the first time.

"I know you," Frank said, surprised. "I have seen you, in my dreams."

"I've visited here a lot, over the years," Neville replied. "Maybe you remember me."

"That is likely," Snape interjected. "Your father may not have been able to acknowledge you, but he may have been able to build up a bank of subconscious memory. Your visits here have not been in vain. Now, take my seat, Mr Longbottom, for it is you that should be seated at your father's side, not I."

Snape stood up from the armchair, and Neville took his place, quickly, and his father's body turned towards him, as if he did not want to lose sight of him for a second. The professor looked unsteady, and exhausted, and Hermione wished more than anything that she could envelop him in a reassuring embrace. Indeed, he looked at her, and she could have sworn that his black eyes were full of longing.

"Miriam," he began, addressing the Healer. "I am going to excuse myself to the toilets. Could a cup of strong coffee be arranged for my return?"

"Certainly, Professor Snape," she replied, heading for her office.

Snape shot Hermione a final look when the Healer's back was turned, and then spun around to leave the ward. No doubt he was going for a much-needed cigarette, as well as to the loo. He deserved it. He had been locked in Frank Longbottom's mind for hours on end, and his task was clearly not over yet, not by a long way.

"Where have you been, all these years? How have you and your mother coped without me?"

Hermione heard Frank speak again, and saw the look of horror that crossed Neville's face, but to his credit, he hid it quickly so as not to alarm his father. Frank didn't know that his wife had met the same fate as he?

"I've been with Gran. Your mum. She raised me."

"My mother?"

"Yes. She's fine, doing well. She still wears that awful crow hat."

Frank's mouth twisted into an amused smile.

"That bloody hat."

"Yeah. Its hideous."

Father and son shared a conspiratorial smile which was a delight to see, although Hermione knew that the joy from the brief moment of humour was about to come crashing down.

"But son, why did your grandmother raise you? Where is your mum?"

Neville's face blanched, and Hermione could see him biting the inside of his cheek to control his emotions. He placed his other hand over his father's, as if trying to give him strength to hear the news that he was about to impart.

"Dad."

"What, son? What is it? Has she passed? Tell me, quickly, for I am not sure I can stand the pain."

Frank Longbottom began to visibly shake, and the tears started to fall yet again, which was unsurprising for a man so emotionally vulnerable.

"The attack, Dad. The attack that put you here in the hospital. They, erm, the attackers … after erm … well, afterwards, they started on Mum. Did the same thing to her."

"Did they kill her? Tell me, Neville. I must know. Please."

Neville's eyes flicked across to his mother in the neighbouring bed, where she sat propped against the pillows, half-sitting and with eyes open, but utterly unresponsive. Frank's eyes followed his son's and he turned slowly round, his face expressing the horror as he saw his wife, not just older, but completely incapacitated.

"Please, no," he whispered. "Alice …"

"Dad, she …"

"Alice!" he shouted, his voice full of tortured pain. "Alice!"

"Dad … she can't hear you."

"I don't understand anything, son. I don't understand where I have been, nor where your mother is, nor how my infant son can be the young man seated before me. I know you, but yet I know nothing of you. What has happened to us? I don't … I don't even know what year it is!"

Neville took a deep breath.

"The year is 1998. The second wizarding war has just ended. Voldemort is finally dead, and we are living in peace."

"You say his name?"

"There is no more to fear from him. He is gone."

Hermione privately thought that Frank should know exactly the crucial role that his son had played in the Dark Lord's downfall, but now was not the time. Healer Strout returned with a cup of coffee just as Snape entered the double doors of the Janus Thickey ward, stalking down the centre of the two lines of metal hospital beds in his usual billowing fashion. Miriam Strout held out the cup to him and he took it with a nod of thanks, and Hermione could smell the familiar aroma of his cigarettes. So, he had been for a smoke, not that she could blame him, the pressure he'd just been under.

"What has been happening?" he asked the Healer, looking across at Neville and his father conversing.

"I've just got back myself. Perhaps Hermione could tell you?"

Snape turned towards her, looking down his long nose with his eyes expressionless, and the intimacy between them pained her – to be so near, yet so unable to touch or comfort him.

"Miss Granger?"

His voice sounded strange. Distant, controlled.

"Mr Longbottom does not know what happened to him, Professor, nor that his wife is in the same state he was. Neville just told him."

"Very well."

Snape turned away from her, his answer clipped and to the point. Even though Hermione knew he had no choice, it still stung.

"Frank."

Neville and his father looked up at the sound of the professor's voice, and he seated himself on the end of the bed, at a respectful distance.

"There is much that you will not understand, not immediately, at least. I will ensure that you are told everything you need to be – about the attack that led to your condition, and that of your wife. But, and this is very important, the first thing I must tell you is that your mind was damaged beyond all conceivable repair. For the last month I have been administering you with an experimental potion in the hope of achieving some kind of recovery. To see you conversing with your son is more than I could have hoped for, but I must caution you not to push yourself too hard, too soon. In order to heal you, it was essential that your mind was forced to forget … certain things. You will need to accept that."

"So, Dad will never remember exactly what happened, Sir?"

"No. And nor should he be forced or encouraged to."

"I never want to go back to that place," Frank Longbottom said, mournfully.

"If you follow my advice, you will never have to", Snape reassured. "Now, if you would permit me to cast some diagnostics?"

Neville scooted back in the chair, allowing Snape room to cast the diagnostics with his wand. He then handed Frank a small vial of liquid to take, which must have been the forgetfulness potion, watching with apparent pleasure as Frank uncorked the potion himself and swallowed it.

"All seems well," he pronounced, after a short while. "Miriam, I will leave Frank to your care. I shall return in the morning to administer the next dose to Alice, and I believe that Frank should continue to take the potion for a while yet. It is good to see him take the potion himself."

"I agree with you," Healer Strout replied. "And do not trouble yourself to return in the morning. After what you've been through today, Professor Snape, I suggest a long lie-in is well needed."

"The potion is not yet sanctioned to be administered by St Mungo's staff."

"What they don't know, won't hurt them," the Healer quipped, with a wink. "Now, be off with you. Saturday night – get some good food inside you, and then a good night's rest with a Sunday morning lie-in."

He nodded his head once in reply, before turning around and leaving the ward quickly, his long black hair flying behind him. He was mostly likely headed towards the main St Mungo's Floo, since Hermione could not see a fireplace here in the Janus Thickey ward, which was probably a good thing, in a ward full of mentally-disturbed patients. The professor had not bid either her, Neville or Frank goodbye, which was rather rude, but not unlike the surly wizard she had known over the years. His contempt for the feelings of others was legendary.

Frank was gazing at his wife again.

"She looks so much older than I remember."

"So do you, Dad," Neville reminded him.

"I do? Can you fetch me a mirror so that I can see?"

Healer Strout went into her office and came back with a large mirror that she handed to Frank. He scrutinised himself intently, wiggling his nose, checking his teeth and inspecting the thinning, but still curly hair on his head. He appeared unperturbed by the physical ageing that must have taken place, thankfully. Like his son, Frank must not have been a vain man. Hermione liked him, already.

"I look like my Uncle Albert," he said, in an interested tone.

"He died a few years ago," Neville reported.

"Only a few years ago? He must have reached a great age, then."

"He was a hundred and eleven, I think."

"Well, there you go."

Frank set down the mirror and looked at Neville, reaching out a hand to touch his face.

"You look like your mother's side of the family," Frank told his son, gently. "You have Alice's eyes, and colouring, and certainly the height. Why, I reckon that when I get out of this bed you'll be taller than me, son. You are a handsome young wizard, and no mistake."

Neville appeared to bask in the praise of his father, and with an unexpected lump in her throat, Hermione was forced to remind herself that he, like Harry, had never known the warmth of a parent's love, nor the soft touch of a hand upon his face, as Frank was doing now. His grandmother had provided care, of course she had, but there was no substitute for this.

"I have been ignoring this young lady," Frank said, suddenly looking up at Hermione, as if noticing her presence for the first time. "Is this your witch, son?"

Neville smiled.

"No, Dad. I do have a girlfriend, her name is Hannah, and you'll meet her as soon as she recovers from the flu. This is Hermione Granger, a very good friend of mine from school."

"Hermione. What an unusual name. I am pleased to meet you. Thank you for being here with Neville. I am sure he draws comfort from the support of his friends."

"I was happy to do it, Mr Longbottom," she replied. "And yes, our group of friends are very supportive of one another."

"Frank, please. No formality here."

"Neville told me that you'd say that," Hermione said, smiling, thinking of the time when Neville had suggested that his mother would want to be addressed as Alice, rather than Mrs Longbottom.

"You have been here before, Hermione?"

"Just the once."

"This is all so very odd."

"It will be odd for a while now, Frank," Healer Strout cut in. "Now can I get you all some dinner?"

"Dad, this is Healer Miriam Strout. She's been caring for you and Mum all this time."

"She has? Well then I am very grateful to you, young lady."

The middle-aged Healer giggled girlishly, and Frank winked at her. Hermione and Neville both grinned – it seemed that Frank Longbottom had been a bit of a charmer. No wonder everyone loved Neville, with his bumbling manner and self-deprecating humour. It must be genetic.

"Dinner would be great," Neville said. "I think I'm going to stay here, too, if that would be ok? I just don't want to leave Dad, not now."

"That's understandable," Healer Strout replied, "and I think it's an excellent idea for your father to have you here as long as possible. I'll transfigure that chair into something slightly more comfortable for you to sleep in."

"Hermione, will you tell Professor McGonagall where I am?" asked Neville.

"Of course. I'm going to go back now, I'll eat at school, and I'll go to the Headmistress' office to advise her of what's happened here today, and why you're still here, if that's ok?"

Neville nodded, and rose to his feet to embrace her.

"Thank you for being here today," he whispered into her ear, as they hugged. "I can't believe this has happened."

"It's amazing," she agreed, releasing him and giving his arm a squeeze. "Enjoy every moment of it."

Bidding the Healer goodbye, Hermione walked up the hospital ward, turning at the door to see Neville and his father deep in conversation. They had picked up the mirror again, and were now both looking into it together, as if they were looking for similarities between their appearances. Her heart lurched with happiness for her friend, for his father had, against all conceivable odds, been returned to him.

As she made her way down to the main fireplace in the St Mungo's reception area, Hermione tried very hard not to think of her own father, now as lost to her as Neville's had once been.

-xxx-

She went straight to the Headmistress' office on her return to Hogwarts, to firstly confirm that she had returned to school safely, as both she and Neville were on an exeat pass, and secondly to advise that Neville would be remaining at the hospital that night, with his father, giving a brief summary of the day's events.

"Thank you, Hermione. Professor Snape returned to school an hour ago, but I did not get much information from him. I am delighted to hear that his potion appears to have been successful for Mr Longbottom. I will send word to the hospital that I am aware that Neville will be staying with his father tonight, as is only right and understandable."

Hermione nodded her thanks, and stifled a yawn.

"And as for yourself, you have had a long and trying day supporting your friend. I request that you return to your room and order a light supper from the kitchens, before having an early night. And I don't want to see you at breakfast in the morning, I would prefer that you slept as long as you need to, for it is the weekend and there are no constraints on your time. I am sure the day has been emotionally exhausting; and even though you are not directly involved with the family, I am aware of the personal sacrifices you have made, regarding your own parents, and the mixed feelings that today's experiences may have invoked."

The Headmistress knew?

"Yes, Headmistress McGonagall. And thank you."

It was all she trusted herself to reply, as she had no wish to enter into a discussion about the Obliviation of her parents. Her former Head of House nodded that she was excused, and Hermione left the Head's office and down the stone steps, heading straight for the guest corridor and the sanctity of her own private room, hoping against hope that she would not meet anyone along the way.

She was in luck, reaching her room without incident or conversation; locking and warding the door behind her. As she stripped off her clothes and tossed them into the laundry basket, Hermione realised how tired she really was. She stepped into her small, bathroom and cleaned her teeth, washed the hospital smell from her hands with a fresh soap that smelled of apple, and splashed cold water on her face, which felt blissful.

Towelling her face dry and slipping into the thin floral robe, Hermione thought that however tired her own bones were, there would be someone who was likely to be in a worse state.

She chanced the Floo, and was pleased, but not altogether surprised, to find the connection between her room and Snape's quarters to be open. Sticking her head into the green flames, she called out for him, but getting no answer, decided to step through uninvited, which felt very different to all the other times she had entered his living room, where she had tumbled straight into his waiting arms.

Merlin, she had missed the very feel of him, these past weeks.

He was not in his living room, so Hermione walked towards the door that led to his bedchamber, not tiptoeing, but also not making enough noise to wake him, should he be sleeping. Perhaps he wasn't here at all?

He was.

Snape was in his bed, fast asleep on his back, the green eiderdown curled around his clearly naked body. One arm was slung behind his head, the other stretched out across the mattress as if he were waiting for someone to creep in and snuggle themselves in it.

She stepped closer.

His skin was pale, the black hairs on his chest and forearms stark against their white background. The scar on his neck stood out, wicked and pink, and the intermittent healed welts on his flank were clearly visible. Nonetheless, his body was still compelling to look at, and most certainly still desirable to her. The professor's breathing was heavy and even, his wide nostrils flaring as he inhaled.

Hermione could see the spider veins of tiredness on his eyelids, as they lay closed. It really was incredibly intimate, to be gazing upon this notoriously private and taciturn wizard as he slumbered.

Leaving him be, she returned to the fireplace, ordering supper for two to be delivered and left under a warming charm on the small dining table, before heading back to the bedroom, slipping off her robe, and insinuating herself into the inviting crook of his extended arm. She pulled the eiderdown around herself, ensuring that he was still covered, and rested her head on his bare chest, revelling in the feeling of being naked with him for the first time in over a month, enjoying the steady beat of his heart beneath her right ear.

Putting her arm across his chest, Hermione finally allowed herself to close her eyes. She felt his arm tighten around her, and his lips press to her forehead in a slow, heavy kiss.

"I didn't know you were awake."

"I am a former spy, Granger," he replied, his voice thick with sleep. "I am alert to any intruder, however welcome the intrusion might be."

Snape took his hand from behind his head; and tipped up her chin so that he could reach her mouth with his lips, and began to kiss her lightly, as if reacquainting himself with the taste of her. Unable to resist the temptation, Hermione allowed her tongue to slip between her lips and press at his, seeking entry, and with a small moan he capitulated, opening his own mouth to envelop hers, creating a delicious seal around her lips. His large hands caressed her naked back as they kissed, one hand sliding up her spine to tangle in her hair, angling her head and holding it in the best position to continue the plundering, searching kiss.

This wizard made her head spin. She had watched him perform extraordinary magic today, reviving a man from a living death through his potion-brewing skills and his ability to hold open a Legilimised connection for hours on end.

And yet.

This powerful, magically-talented wizard was still just a man, a man with human desires and needs – needs that he was making known against her mouth, with every press of his lips, with every swirl of his clever tongue.

"I want you, Hermione," he whispered, his lips still touching hers. "But I am so very tired."

"Your magic is depleted," she replied. "Sleep. I have ordered food, and we can eat when we wake."

"You will stay?"

"Of course. All night. I've been banished to my room to rest, by order of the Headmistress."

"How very convenient."

"Isn't it?"

He pushed his long hair from his eyes, before stroking his large hand down her face, reverently.

"Sleep," he confirmed, kissing her lips a final time. "Sleep, then food. And after that, Miss Granger, we have all night to occupy ourselves, for there is something I have missed greatly."

His exhausted, sly smile was enough to turn her guts over with sheer desire.

She wanted that. She wanted everything.

Pulling her body firmly against his, as if he were unable to sleep without her touch, Hermione covertly watched Snape close his eyes again, and his features began to slacken as his body prepared for the sleep it so desperately needed.

"I just missed you, Severus," she whispered, into his chest.

The twitch of his fingers upon her spine suggested that he had heard her.


	22. Chapter 22

Severus awoke the following morning after the best night's sleep he'd had for a month. So much for sex, dinner or talking; the two of them appeared to have relaxed so fully in each other's arms that they had slept soundly through the dawn, and the school Sunday breakfast bell.

She was still here.

He knew that without looking, without moving. He could just … sense her, even though they were not touching.

Turning his face to the left, Severus saw her, the only good thing in his life, asleep on the neighbouring pillow with her insanely thick and curly hair fanned out over the white cotton material.

How could something so beautiful and pure be forbidden? And yet she was. He had no business being anywhere near this girl apart from standing at the front of her classroom, as her teacher. It wasn't that he didn't have the strength to stop himself – with all that Severus had endured, over the years, he had no doubts about the fortitude of his own self-control, nor his capacity for self-denial.

But as he had said to Miss Granger, right at the beginning, when she had presented herself at his private laboratory and offered him something he had always desired, he had no wish to deny himself any more. It was as simple as that.

Severus had never felt more like a man than during the intimate moments that he had shared with this young girl. She had awoken something inside him that he felt unwilling to contain, any longer. And whilst he was on the subject of awakenings, his morning wood was pressuring him to take advantage of what currently lay in his bed, rather than yet another unsatisfactory wank.

Sliding his naked and well-rested body across the short distance between them, whilst simultaneously pulling back the eiderdown to expose her upper body, Severus wrapped his arm around her bare torso and began to gently kiss the side of her face to awaken her. As she murmured, he nuzzled his lips down to her ear, and to the curve of her neck, helping himself to a handful of pert breast, that he began to ply and fondle.

"Hi," she whispered, sounding delightfully bleary with sleep, before lifting a hand to cup the back of his head, pushing her fingers through his long hair to do so.

"Good morning," he rumbled, enjoying the touch of her hand in his hair, and beginning to kiss down her chest, replacing his fingers with his lips and suckling at her nipple, drawing it into his mouth with relish.

"We slept all night?"

"It appears that we did," he replied, keeping his lips close to her breast.

"Ungh," she moaned, softly, her hand seeming to guide the movements of his head as he tongued around her areola, flickering her nipple as he passed around it.

"You like that?"

"Yesss …"

"I do, too."

Severus stroked his hand over her stomach, enjoying the sudden lurch of her hips as he ghosted his fingertips further down and over her mound, pushing away the covers to expose more of her to his greedy eyes. Except it wasn't just his eyes, that were greedy.

He released her breast and moved swiftly down the bed, clambering between her legs and pushing her thighs apart before she realised what was happening.

"Oh!"

"Indeed," he smirked, carefully opening her labia with his thumbs before swooping down to delicately lick around her clitoris.

Already smelling her arousal, Severus kept her spread open as he delved further with his long, sharp tongue; flickering what he hoped were maddening circles around her juicy little clit, teasing it out of hiding.

"I thought you wanted to eat before sex?"

"Speak for yourself," he quipped, between licks. "I am already eating."

With that, he pushed his tongue fully inside her, snaking it around the wet walls of her cunt.

"Holy fucking shit!"

Her hips jerked upwards as she gasped the expletive, and Severus had to anchor her pelvis with both hands to avoid his mouth losing contact with his delicious prize. Granger rarely swore, so when she did, one knew that she truly meant it. If his entire mouth hadn't been otherwise engaged, he would have grinned like a fool in pleasure at his own sexual prowess.

Keeping her body in the position he wanted, Severus locked his mouth over as much of her as he could, allowing his tongue to work like an insane quill, bewitched to scribble out words at speed, to lick this girl everywhere he could, anywhere that would bring her orgasmic pleasure. His long black hair trailed across her thighs as he worked, and every so often she would clutch a handful of it, as if trying to keep his head pressed against her anxious pussy.

Granger should not have worried. He had no intention of removing his tongue until she had climaxed all over it.

Occasionally, he would move his head a fraction so that he could inspect his work. Her cunt was reddened and juicy, pulsing with arousal and dripping fluid from her hole. She was fucking beautiful.

"Come, beautiful girl," he said aloud, before letting his tongue loose upon her clit again.

"Oh … oh, yesss ... that's it, oh, please … Sir!"

Always with the Sir. Severus couldn't deny it was highly erotic to hear. He wondered what she was picturing in her mind. He in his teaching robes, perhaps?

His thoughts were interrupted by a jerk of her hips, followed by a few seconds where she was frozen, immobile. He lashed frantically at her engorged clitoris, for when the girl went still, it indicated that she was on the very edge of her orgasm.

"Ohhhhhhh …." she breathed, her pelvis shaking her climax free as she came hard, juices flowing freely from her contracting vagina as it begged to be filled.

Severus continued to nudge her clit with his finger as he watched her orgasm, his face close enough to see everything. He felt her hand tangle in his hair, and give it a tug, trying to pull him away.

"A little more?" he enquired, rubbing the hard little bud with the pad of his thumb.

"No more."

"Not even a little?"

Her pussy flinched away from his touch, but he kept gently irritating her clitoris.

"I can't …"

"I am sure that you could."

Granger did not answer, but gasped and wriggled as she tried to bear the feeling of him titillating her highly sensitive clit; when she had already climaxed.

"Gods! Please, Sir! Just fuck me, please!"

Severus had left his crouched position between her knees and was upon her in a mere second, his body spread the length of hers, crushing her beneath his weight, and the blunt head of his morning erection at her sopping wet entrance.

"What did you just say, Miss Granger?"

She gave him a cheeky smile, her clear brown eyes still drunk with arousal, and extended her neck upwards to plop a wet kiss on his mouth, hooking one arm around his neck.

"I said, I need you inside me, Severus. Please?"

"As if you even have to ask," he replied, gruffly, already pushing his hips forwards so that his desperate cock slid inside her wet heat, sending a jolt of excitement through his entire body.

He kept pushing until he was as deep inside her as it was possible to be, holding himself there, bottomed out against this tiny witch.

"This is the feeling that has carried me through the last month," he admitted, keeping himself pressed deep inside, before the urge to begin thrusting overcame him.

It felt dizzyingly good to simply be inside her, at this depth.

"I missed you," she told him.

"I know. I heard you say it, last night."

"Did you miss me? Or just the sex?"

What a time to ask such a question. And now he had waited too long to answer. Shit.

"I cannot answer a question that I do not yet know the answer to, Hermione."

"Yet," she repeated.

"Yet," he confirmed.

They were each staring into the eyes of the other, as if all the answers they sought would be found there. Severus could only hope that his were as open and honest as hers. Slowly, he began to move. He drew his length from her, enjoying the tug of her tight walls against his cock as he did so, before pushing back in, all the way, seating himself with a wriggle of his hips before pulling out again, repeating the same action, over and over, gradually increasing his speed in pace with his own mounting arousal.

Her lips were parted a little, and the skin on her upper chest was flushed red as Granger slid her other arm around his shoulders, the movements of her body following that of his own.

"That's good," she whispered. "Don't stop."

"I won't," he replied, taking a deep kiss from her lips, pushing his tongue into her mouth and mimicking the movements of his cock, knowing that she would taste herself as he did so.

Supporting himself on his forearms, so that his whole body still retained contact with hers, Severus rolled his hips to thrust into this sweet girl again and again, his orgasm building, and the desperation to shoot his load getting more urgent each time he plunged forwards.

A breathless gasp told him that she was also close to a second climax. Merlin, he wanted that. Severus was not so naïve that he presumed every sexual encounter would end with a simultaneous orgasm, but ye gods, it was fucking amazing when it did happen. He worked his cock rhythmically, hopefully pressing on that secret spot deep inside that would make her come.

He was now pistoning into her so hard and so fast that he thought his eyeballs would explode from the pressure, but yet there was no way he would be shutting them, not with such a delightful visual keening below him.

He felt her orgasm before he heard it, as her abdomen went into spasm as she came, and her thighs began to shake and tremble as much as his own were. With the long strands of his own hair sticking to his sweaty face, Severus thumped his hips against hers, thundering home in a flurry of final thrusts as his ejaculate was forced from the end of his cock in short, blissful bursts, massaged by the movements of her climaxing vaginal walls contracting against it.

"Fucking hell, fucking hell," he bit out, through a clenched jaw as he came, violently. "Fucking hell, girl."

All that could be heard was the sound of rasping breaths, and of their mingled juices squelching obscenely as he continued to pound in and out of her. He didn't want to stop, didn't want this moment to be over. Planting his sloppy mouth on her lips, Severus snogged her in a messy, desultory fashion that she didn't seem to mind, given that she was responding in the same way.

Being joined to Hermione Granger by the mouth and the cock, having just given and received one of the best fucks of his limited experience, was an excellent way to begin his Sunday morning.

-xxx-

A house-elf had clearly taken it upon himself to remove the uneaten dinner that she had ordered last night; and replaced it with a service of hot breakfast that had been placed under a warming charm. Snape had poured her a cup of coffee; and had curled his lip in disgust when Hermione had eschewed it, preferring English Breakfast tea to the tart, black coffee. Wearing the floral robe that she'd arrived in, the previous evening, she took a restorative first sip of the brew that ought to have been magical, it was so good.

In turn, she had poured him a tall glass of pumpkin juice alongside her own, and began heaping the delicious food, fresh from the Hogwarts kitchens, onto her plate, hoping he would copy her. Having missed dinner entirely, Hermione was ravenous, and her plate was soon full of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, mushrooms, and cooked tomatoes, and she was buttering two slices of toast on a side plate.

The wizard who had just reduced her to a boneless heap, in his bed, was standing in front of the fire, smoking a cigarette with one hand, and nursing his cup of coffee in the other, shifting from foot to foot on the thick rug that covered the unforgiving stone floor of the dungeon. He was wearing nothing but the thin black robe that was loosely tied around his slim waist, gaping open just enough for Hermione to see a good shock of his dark chest hair, which she had to admit she found rather attractive – it marked him out as a grown man, rather than a teenage boy. Ron and Harry had both been practically hairless on their chests, which she had seen a lot of. With the endless camping of the last year, there had been no room for modesty.

"Are you coming to eat?" she asked him.

"In a moment," he replied, indicating the final third of his cigarette that he had yet to finish smoking. "You begin. Do not feel that you have to wait for me."

If Snape thought that a Gryffindor would rank manners over food, he had another think coming. Hermione was starving, so she picked up her cutlery and began to cut into her food, letting out a small noise of pleasure as she ate the first forkful.

He flicked the cigarette butt into the fire and approached the table, with curiosity in his eyes.

"Have some juice, before you decide what you want to eat," Hermione suggested. "It may cleanse your palate from the smoking, which deadens taste buds."

He arched a questioning eyebrow at her as he sat down, which made him look slightly dangerous. Hermione swallowed hard before reminding herself that his was Severus, not Professor Snape. She wasn't scared of him.

"It does. That might be why you don't enjoy your food as much as you should, perhaps it doesn't taste quite right, or of anything particularly nice."

"Perhaps."

She pushed the two big platters of cooked breakfast food towards him, and then returned her attentions to her own plate, which wasn't a difficult task, since everything was so delicious. From the movements she could see in the corner of her eye, he was serving himself a decent portion, and once he began to eat, Hermione began a fairly light conversation about the latest Potions essay, eliciting a smirk when she asked him if he'd liked the addendum, which had of course been her note. It was enough to distract him so that he ate without realising, and she was pleased to see him finish his entire plate.

The house-elves had delivered a fat copy of the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet with the breakfast, and they retired to the sofa to read it, dividing the different sections between them quite amicably. Snape sat in his usual corner, and Hermione took the other, putting her feet across the cushions so that her feet rested against his hip and thigh.

He looked at her, quizzically, before summoning a pouffe on which to rest his own feet, and then a large blanket to cover both their legs. Pushing his hair behind his ears, he unfolded the current affairs section of the newspaper, and settled back to read. Hermione had a section containing updates and information on vacant Ministry positions and news from the magical archives, and sat back herself, enjoying both the easy silence as they read, and the warmth on her feet that came from his body.

There would be the occasional rustle of paper as one of them turned a page, otherwise nothing. A short while later, Hermione felt him dip under the blanket and place his large hand across her bare feet, gently massaging absentmindedly as he continued to read.

It was a breathtakingly tender, and intimate, gesture.

-xxx-

Hours later, when Severus had to return to St Mungo's to assess Frank, and Hermione had absented herself from the rest of the castle for as long as she dared; they stood before the fireplace, his arms around her waist, and her hands resting lightly on his shoulders, saying a reluctant farewell.

His day had been superb. After they had devoured the newspaper between them, he had allowed the girl to peruse his beloved bookshelves, and she had selected an erudite wizarding novel; a sharp satire written almost one hundred years ago, but still amusing and relevant. Granger had reversed her position on the sofa so that she was now leaning against him, his arm around her, and Severus could feel every breath she took as they read their respective tomes.

It hadn't been long before he had snuck his hand inside the front of her thin dressing gown, seeking out a soft breast to palm, and the action had ended with both of them naked, their robes pushed from their shoulders in great passion, and Granger straddling him on the sofa, his eager cock fucking her for the second time that day, his face buried in the cradle of her bouncing tits as she rutted in his lap.

"Please," she asked, "don't leave it so long before we see each other again. And I don't mean just in lessons."

"I will not," he answered, honestly. "I will assess the situation at St Mungo's and see if I can reduce the amount of time that I am expected to be there. With a successful trial, it may be that my next objective is to patent the potion."

"Didn't you say that you created it for yourself?"

"I did, but with a recovery as astonishing as Frank Longbottom's, I would be selfish not to share it."

"True, but you deserve care, too, especially after the time and effort you have put in to this potion. You don't have to submit your findings until you wish to, until you are ready."

"You are too wise for one so young."

Granger smiled softly, and he splayed his hand across her back, pulling the girl towards him. It was still unbelievable to Severus that he held such an outstanding witch in his arms. He gently kissed her lips, allowing the touch to linger, whilst still remaining chaste and final.

"I will see you as soon as I can, Hermione," he promised, turning her towards the fireplace and opening the Floo connection with a wave of his hand.

He felt her loss keenly, even as he watched her spin through the Floo, away from him.

-xxx-

He had returned to St Mungo's shortly afterwards to find Frank Longbottom fully dressed. Apparently, he had taken exception at the indignity of wearing pyjamas all day long, and his son had summoned the grandmother, who had rushed to the hospital bearing a selection of Frank's old clothes.

Thankfully, the crochety old witch had departed by the time he arrived, so Severus was able to avoid running a gauntlet of questions from the notoriously curious Augusta Longbottom.

The boy looked exhausted, for he must not have slept well in the transfigured chair, and it prompted Severus to send Longbottom back to Hogwarts, with a note that requested Minerva grant him an open pass to return to St Mungo's whenever he did not have a lesson, or an appointment with Pomona Sprout, to whom he was apprenticed.

Severus gave Frank the potion dose, which the man swallowed gratefully, and held out his hand for the second vial.

"May I administer this to my wife? If I can do so, it would mean that you do not have to attend the hospital night and day, as Miriam Strout advises me that you have been doing."

Severus nodded, and handed Frank the vial, watching as he leaned over to his unresponsive spouse and held it to her lips. Alice swallowed it without protest or reaction. Seventeen years of habit, he supposed.

"Can you help her, Severus? Can she be brought back, the way I was?"

"I do not know. She has not responded to the potion in the way that you have, and whilst there has certainly been improvement, it has been marginal compared to your own recovery."

"But surely, given time, given more time, Alice could respond in the same way."

"Frank …"

"You will try?"

"Of course, I will try. But I do not wish to give you false hope."

There was silence between them, then. Frank climbed slowly off the bed, and indicated that Severus should follow him, through a door next to the Healer's office, that led into a small sitting room that contained a few armchairs and a couple of sofas. Frank chose a chair; and gestured that Severus should sit in the other.

"What happened to me?" he asked; once they were seated. "What caused me to be in that hellish place for so long?"

"I cannot tell you that, as I do not want to risk you remembering anything that would cause you to return there."

Frank's face fell. Severus had to give this man something, and searched his mind for the right words.

"You were attacked in the course of your work, Frank. Both you, and your wife. The attack was devastating, trapping you in the place I found you, yesterday. Your physical wounds healed, but your mind remained damaged."

Frank Longbottom nodded slowly, as if processing the information that he was being given.

"Is Alice in a similar place to me? Right now?"

"I do not know for certain; since I have not yet performed Legilimency on her."

"But would you think so?"

Severus sighed. He did not want to devastate the man, but nor did he deserve to be coddled, or lied to.

"I would think she probably is, and it is likely that her mind is more damaged than yours; since I am finding her harder to reach."

"Oh, Alice …"

Frank shook his head slowly, turning his face to the window, and Severus saw him blink back a few tears.

"Alice was a fine Auror, Severus. One of the best. Her mind was strong, and she was magically talented. A woman who works successfully as a dark wizard catcher is not going to go down without a fight."

"I agree."

"She deserves to see her son. Neville deserves to see his mother, to see the witch she truly is, not the empty shell he has looked upon all his life!"

"Indeed, he does. But I can only try. This potion is experimental, and it does not seem to be working on Alice the way it did with you."

"I give you my permission to try anything you want!"

There was a desperation in Frank's voice that would have broken Severus' heart, if he'd still possessed one. That had been trampled out of him many years ago.

"Thank you, and I assure you I will do everything I can."

"I need to get out of this hospital, and I intend to take my wife with me, whatever recovery she does or does not achieve."

"That is commendable of you, Frank."

"Not really," the curly-haired man replied. "That is marriage."

Severus felt discomfited at his statement, because a vision of a familiar witch, curled up under his arm and reading his books, flashed across his mind. He silently berated himself for even daring to connect the two together. In the unlikely event that anyone ever loved him enough to marry him, it would never be Hermione Granger.

"Do you have a wife, Severus? Children?"

"I have neither," he replied, curtly.

"Oh."

There was an awkward silence, only broken when Frank advised that his mother was taking him to Ollivander's the following day, to urgently purchase a new wand.

"Just as if I were eleven years old again, being taken by my mother to buy my first wand," he chuckled, good-naturedly.

"Your wand was not kept for you?"

"My mother gifted it to Neville when he started at Hogwarts. Neville tells me that he managed to break it beyond repair, at the Department of Mysteries, of all places! I have no idea what he was doing there, nor how he managed to break my wand, but no matter, I suppose."

"No matter? Did Longb … did Neville give you no idea of why he was present at the Department of Mysteries?"

"None whatsoever," Frank replied. "Why, do you know what happened?"

"Order some tea, Frank," Severus told him, "and make yourself comfortable. It is high time I told you what an exceptionally courageous young wizard, your son is."

Severus took a deep breath before beginning to speak, in a quiet, melodious tone. Frank leaned forwards, eager to listen, and hear news of his son.

It was time to repay seven years of debt, to Neville Longbottom.


	23. Chapter 23

A week later, and excitement over Snape's 'resurrection' (as it was being toted in the Prophet) of Frank Longbottom was still front-page news.

Augusta Longbottom had wasted no time in announcing her son's miraculous recovery to all and sundry, and it was of little surprise that the salivating hounds at the Daily Prophet were soon all over the story.

Miraculous.

It wasn't fucking miraculous, it was the culmination of a year's bloody hard work, experimentation and research, not forgetting the services of a Master Legilimens; one who was willing to step inside Longbottom's hellish mindscape and drag him back from the dark, watery wasteland in which he had been mentally trapped.

Miraculous, indeed.

He snorted aloud, as he folded the newspaper and slapped it down onto the side table in disgust, startling Sybill Trelawney who was wafting around the staff room like a fart in a hurricane.

"Are you quite alright, Severus?" she enquired, pushing her bony face with its ludicrously magnified eyes, far nearer to his own that he would have liked.

"He is fine, Sybill," Andrea Masters interrupted, shooing the airy Divination professor away and sitting unasked in the chair opposite Severus.

He raised a slow eyebrow in the imperious manner he used when intending to frighten an errant student, and said nothing, but hooked one leg over the opposite thigh, drumming his fingers on his boot and turning to glare at the fireplace, wishing he had not dispensed with the newspaper quite so prematurely.

"Getting attention from all corners now, aren't you, Severus?" she began, leaning back in her own seat and stretching her hands along the leather arm of the old staff room chair.

"I have no idea what you speak of."

It was a lie. He had received more post this last week than the entire rest of the term put together; a mixture of potion companies offering their services, desperate people wanting to take the targeted Forgetfulness potion themselves, and worst of all, a request from the Daily Prophet for an exclusive interview, of all things.

Minerva had repeated the request to him two days after he'd burned the original letter in an impressive shower of angry red sparks, for she had received a personal approach from Rita Skeeter, no less. Severus had given the Headmistress his response in a tirade of such creative and vehement swearing that no one in the staff room, nor its immediate vicinity, could be any doubt that he would not be accepting Skeeter's request for an interview.

Pomona Sprout had actually snorted with ill-suppressed laughter, when he'd described the tabloid hack writer as the bastard love child of a mountain troll and a dung beetle. Minerva did not ask him again, which was essentially a wise move on her part.

Andrea summoned the whisky decanter and topped up his glass, pouring a second for herself.

"Your good health," she murmured, tilting her glass in his direction.

"I did not ask you to pour my drink for me."

"I was having one. It seemed polite to refresh yours."

Severus glowered at her, but the witch did not seem at all cowed by his surliness.

"Everyone wants a piece of Severus Snape, it seems?"

"What?" he snapped, jerking his head up with impatience, for she was fast becoming tiresome.

"A hero, and now a financial success, thanks to this potion of yours. I am sure you'll soon have the witches lining up at the school gates."

He did not answer her. It was true that amongst his post this week, there had been a bizarre letter from a witch named Fiona Tweddle, in which she pledged her admiration for his bravery, his cleverness in curing the 'poor Longbottoms' and providing her return address. He had consigned it to the fire and thought no more about it. Not that he would tell Andrea Masters anything about it.

"Remember, Severus. I proposed to you before all of this, not knowing the success you would make of yourself. You can be assured that my reasons for wanting to be with you are outside of financial matters."

He actually laughed – a strangled, choked sound that had nothing to do with mirth and everything to do with disgust and contempt.

Standing up, leaving the newspaper and the untouched refill of firewhisky on the side table, he took his leave of his colleagues in the staff room without a word, sweeping out of the high-ceilinged room where he had spent so much time, over the years. Too much time.

As he stalked down the corridor, swiftly turning the next corner, thanking Merlin that he wasn't on night patrol and could retire to bed, he was most displeased to hear quickening footsteps behind him, and finally, a hand touched his shoulder.

"Severus!"

He spun around, facing her.

"I have nothing to say to you, Andrea. You have made your intentions clear, and in turn, I have advised you that I want no part in what you are planning. Leave me be."

She was still holding his shoulder, her red painted fingernails bright against the black cloth of his teaching robe.

"I will wait for you," she promised, bizarrely.

"Do not trouble yourself. It will be an awfully long wait."

Andrea squeezed his shoulder tighter.

"This is an advantageous solution for both of us, Severus. I can, and will, wait until you see the good sense in what I am proposing."

"There is no good sense in your proposal."

"On the contrary," she retorted, taking a quick step forwards that rendered Severus slightly off-balance, causing him to step back, away from her, and found himself leaning against the stone wall of the corridor, knocking a painting askew as he did so.

"Excuse me!" the portrait shouted, disgruntled at being jostled awake.

Andrea Masters did not miss a beat. She closed in on him, placing her hand, with great audacity, against his covered crotch, and squeezed the bulge she felt within.

"Get your hands off me," he spat, black eyes boring down at her.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice oozing seduction and massaging his cock through his coat and trousers. "Because it feels to me as if you are rather keen that my hand stays right where it is."

"That, Madam, is the natural resting state of my cock. Something you will never get any closer to, because if you do not remove your hand this instant, I shall hex it off."

Realising it was not wise to test his threat, Andrea desisted from pawing his groin, but instead slid her hand up his body to rest upon his cheek, which she stroked gently with her thumb, looking up at him as if for all the world that she fancied him. Thankfully, he knew better.

The former Mrs Rookwood was an incredibly attractive witch, there was no doubting that. If his mind and body had not been so captivated by a girl young enough to be his daughter, Severus might have been tempted by her offer; if not the marriage, certainly the sex.

As it was, for all her beauty, Andrea Masters was not Hermione Granger. He needed the guileless innocence of the girl, her utter acceptance of all that he was, and all that he wasn't, as he negotiated his first-ever sexual relationship. The ex-wife of a Death Eater would eat him alive, and that didn't interest him in the slightest. He'd had more than enough of being dominated.

Andrea trailed a finger across his pursed lips.

"Let me teach you, Severus. Allow me to show you what you have been missing, all these years."

He pushed her hand away, roughly. Enough was enough.

"How do you know that I have been missing anything?" he sneered, needlessly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"So, you do fuck your students," she stated.

"Absolutely none of your business."

"I can offer you so much more than a teenager, Professor Snape. You will realise that, in time. And I told you, I am a patient woman. I will wait."

"Don't."

She smiled beatifically at him, and turned to walk away, stroking a hand across his folded arms as she departed, making him shiver, most unpleasantly. Severus rallied himself and continued through the echoing corridors, making his way down towards the dungeons, thinking that it would be a fucking cold day in hell before he stuck his cock anywhere that Augustus Rookwood's had once been.

-xxx-

Sitting in a Monday morning Transfiguration class was never the most pleasant of experiences, but today was particularly trying, after the announcement that Professor McGonagall had made at breakfast.

The new Headmistress had informed the school that as a celebration of peacetime, and as a treat for all students, there would be a Yule Ball held in mid-December, before the school broke up for the Christmas holidays. This ball would be similar to the one that had been held in Hermione's fourth year, during the Tri-Wizard tournament, when her partner for the evening had been none other than the Bulgarian international Quidditch player, Viktor Krum.

She remembered the night of the Yule Ball as having been a wonderful evening, apart from Ron's bad mood and Harry's ineptitude; as for the first time Hermione had fully embraced everything that being a girl entailed – allowing Ginny Weasley to Sleakeasy her curls into submission and pour her into an amazing dress that she had swept around the dancefloor all night, and the periwinkle blue skirts had been filthy the next morning, much to Ginny's chagrin.

The Yule Ball, McGonagall had explained, used to be solely a preserve of the Tri-Wizard tournament, but since they'd all almost died (well, she didn't actually use those words, but had implied them) it seemed silly to miss a wonderful opportunity for 'well-mannered frivolity.'

Some of the older Gryffindors had smirked, remembering their former Head of House using those exact words as she'd attempted to teach them all a basic waltz.

Nonetheless, huge excitement had rippled across the Great Hall, reaching such a level of noise that the Headmistress had needed to amplify her voice to call for quiet. It was this excited babble that was causing such a ruckus in the Transfiguration classroom, that morning.

Rather than attempt to quieten the students down, Professor Briner was encouraging them, perching on individual desks (all girls, she noted) enquiring what they planned to wear, or whom they wished would invite them as a partner. Malfoy had scoffed a little too loudly, once too often, and had soon provoked the teacher's annoyance.

"Is this all beneath you, Mr Malfoy?" Briner had goaded. "Of course, you and Miss Granger have no such trivial worries as finding a partner, will you, hmm? How uncharitable you are to the feelings of others."

"I was under the impression that this was supposed to be a Transfiguration class, not a night in the girls' dorms, wittering about dates and dresses," Draco shot back, succinctly.

Briner, of course, could not argue with that, and was forced to slink back behind his teaching desk, and resume the lesson he had started half an hour ago, glaring at Draco and herself for the remainder of the class, as if their very presence personally offended him. Hermione fervently hoped that it did.

"I'll pay for that one," Malfoy had crowed; once they were trooping out of the classroom and headed for their next lesson.

"I have no doubt you will," Hermione agreed, reluctantly, before spotting a familiar blonde Slytherin heading towards them, and enjoying Draco's face turn from pale to pinked.

"Ask her now, before somebody else does," she urged. "Trust me. That happens."

She nudged him towards Astoria as they passed ways, making him drop all his books at the younger girl's feet. It was childish, but incredibly satisfying. Hermione snuck a look behind her before rounding the next corner, and saw them both crouching down, picking up Draco's books. He would ask her to the ball, she was certain of it. Draco Malfoy wouldn't risk someone else taking the witch he had his eye on.

Ginny caught up with her as they entered the Potions classroom, breathless from running.

"I just sent an owl to Harry!" she panted, throwing her books on the nearest workbench and tugging Hermione down onto the neighbouring stool. "I've asked him if he'll write to McGonagall and see if he could be allowed back into school for the night of the Yule Ball, to be my partner. I mean, he did save the school, and the whole wizarding world, so she can't really say no. Can she?"

Hermione smiled at the excited Weasley.

"I'm sure she won't, Ginny. Professor McGonagall loves Harry, and I'm sure she'd love to see him as much as you'd like him to be here for the Yule Ball."

Ginny returned the smile, her freckled nose wrinkling as she grinned.

"What about you, Hermione? No Viktor Krum this time!"

Hermione looked around the classroom, pretending to assess the quality of young wizards within it, making Ginny laugh.

"Hmm, there's no one here that really passes muster, is there?" she replied, in a mock-snooty tone that had them both laughing together. "No, in all seriousness, I'll go alone. I don't need a dance partner to be able to have fun."

Just then, Professor Snape entered the classroom, barging through the door that led to his main office, silencing the room with a single request for quiet, curtly spelling today's brew on the board with an enchanted piece of white chalk, and launching into a detailed explanation of the ingredients they would be using, along with the usual poison warnings. No greetings, no pleasantries, no interaction. Only instruction.

Except you, Hermione thought, her eyes and ears filled with the sight and sound of her forbidden lover. I'd have fun dancing, with you.

-xxx-

Severus returned to Hogwarts, too late for dinner, but too early for bed.

He'd spent the evening at St Mungo's, not out of necessity, for Frank had now taken it upon himself to administer all his wife's doses of the Forgetfulness potion, and dutifully took his own, but because he had promised Frank that he would attempt Legilimency on Alice, to see if he could find her, inside her own mind.

It had been unsuccessful, right from the start. Severus could not find any way to force Alice to make eye contact with him, not even for a second, and without the eye contact, a Legilimised connection would be impossible. Frank had watched him try, again and again, his face etched with sadness and concern.

Unlike her husband, Alice did not focus on anything. Even when her eyes were open, they were unseeing, never darting about the room or fixating on faces. It was as if she were blind. Tests had proved she was not, but Severus had no idea what to try next.

He bid Frank good night with an apology that he could not have done more to help Alice, but with a promise that he would not give up, not yet. Frank had brushed away his regrets; telling him there was no need for Severus to apologise, for he had done so much already, and thanked him profusely for trying.

The time had almost come for Frank Longbottom to be discharged from St Mungo's. There was no reason for a healthy, sane wizard to be living on a curse-damage ward, and Severus had been told about Frank's initial plans to move back to his family home, where his mother still lived, and where his son had been raised, since his and Alice's marital home had been sold many years ago, and the funds deposited in a Gringotts vault in Neville Longbottom's name.

Once Alice was … back, Frank told him, with great certainty, they would buy a new house where they could rebuild their lives, although he wasn't sure that either of them would ever return to their jobs in the Auror Office.

Severus privately thought that none of these plans would ever come to fruition, but of course, he did not say so. That would have been cruel.

Frank was refusing to leave Alice in the hospital without him; and was applying to have her discharged into he and Augusta's care, so that she could live at home, rather than in St Mungo's. It was to his credit that the request was being considered, although, there was little that the Healers could do for Alice Longbottom now, beyond caring for her unresponsive body.

No, her fate lay entirely with him - Severus. The magnitude of this responsibility was not lost on him.

Severus found himself walking towards the fireplace as he entered his quarters, not stopping to take off his boots, nor his travelling cloak. He stepped through the Floo connection to Granger's room that they always left open; and enjoyed her surprise as she looked up and saw him in the fireplace.

She was seated, cross-legged, in a wheeled chair at her desk, in those infernally tiny pyjamas that consisted of a skimpy vest and the smallest pair of shorts he'd ever seen. Not that Severus was complaining. The more of her body he got to see, the better, as far as he was concerned.

Throwing her quill down on the desk, she bounced out of her chair and across the room to greet him, and surprised him greatly by jumping into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, and pressing her mouth directly to his. Again, he was not complaining.

"Have you been at the hospital?" she asked; once she had kissed him thoroughly.

"I have indeed. How did you know?"

"Your clothes smell of St Mungo's," she replied, cheekily, her legs still held tightly around his waist.

"Is that so? Perhaps you'd better remove them, then."

His eyes dared her to do just that, and he allowed her to slither back to the floor, ensuring she was pressed against his groin on the way down.

Severus found that he didn't want to talk about his work with the Longbottoms, or be asked how Frank was getting on, nor how long would it be before Alice was cured in exactly the same way? No, he just needed comfort – just needed … her.

Granger drew her wand, an intricately carved vinewood, from her hair, where it was holding the mad curls in a kind of messy pile, which came tumbling down when she removed the wand. Casting it towards the bed with confidence and skill, she summoned the scarlet eiderdown, sending it to lay on the hearth rug before the fire, which was still glowing green. She closed the Floo connection, returning the flames to their usual orange, and stoked it higher.

"Engorgio."

She cast her wand at the eiderdown, increasing its size and plumpness, and then doused the wall sconces, sending the room into darkness, but well-lit by the blaze of the small fire.

"Look at me," she whispered, pulling the vest over her head and standing in front of him, long hair just touching the tops of her pert breasts.

Oh, he would look. He would certainly look.

Sending another cast from her wand, this time towards him, Severus felt his cloak leave his shoulders, and fall to the floor. The buttons of his coat began to unfasten, and this too soon joined the cloak on the floor. He kicked off his shoes, pulling his socks with them, before straightening up again to look at her, naked except for the tiny shorts.

"Continue," he instructed, enunciating every syllable of the word, stringing each one out in his mouth, extending every vowel.

His shirt and trousers were soon dispensed with, tugged from his body with waves of her subtle, yet promisingly powerful magic. His wand was revealed as his shirt dropped to the floor, and she took it, placing it with her own on top of the homework that she'd been working on; when he had arrived. It was the Potions essay he'd set. The reality of their situation was laid clear, and yet, he didn't care. Granger didn't seem to, either.

"I'll do these myself, without magic," she told him, toying with the waistband of his undershorts.

"Please do," he replied, enjoying every moment of this girl stripping him of his clothes in the most tender way.

Neatly hoicking the front over his now-substantial erection, she guided his shorts over his bottom and down his legs, licking the end of his cock both on the way down, and as she stood up again. It lurched eagerly towards her, in pleasure.

"May I return the favour?" he asked, arching an eyebrow to indicate her pyjama shorts.

She stepped towards him, by way of consent.

Severus encircled her waist with his hands, slowly moving his fingers down to her last remaining garment, not that there had been many to begin with, and edged them down to the floor, as she'd done to him, and guided her to step out of them. He then took her hand and led her to the plump eiderdown that she'd enlarged and laid before the fire, bending his knees to sit down, bringing her with him, encouraging her to straddle him.

"You are beautiful, Hermione," he told her, and it was true, for she was luminous in the golden glow of the fire that was warming both their naked bodies.

He pushed his hands into her hair and drew her face towards him, capturing her lips with his own and delivering a kiss that took his own breath away with its depth and ferocity. He kissed her with everything that he could not say out loud, for he did not have the words.

He swallowed the little pants and mews that she made as he pushed his tongue roughly and somewhat inexpertly into her mouth, sweeping up her own tongue and forcing it to parry with his own. It was not long before one of his hands left her head and crept down to her chest, taking a handful of ripe tit and fondling it, flickering over the nipple with his thumb and feeling her wriggle in his lap.

Breaking the kiss, she placed her hand on his chest, pushing him backwards to lay on the enlarged eiderdown, in the nest, of sorts, that she had created. Rising to her knees, she used her hand to slip the head of his cock inside her, and then sat down to seat herself fully upon him. He groaned, long and loud.

"You are beautiful, Severus," she answered, beginning to rock her hips against him, starting a slow fuck that he had no doubt would soon have him shouting his release.

He watched her make love to him. This tiny girl who had been a virgin, just as he had. They had learnt together, and she was now capable of this. The way she was rolling her pelvis, ensuring every inch of her tight cunt manipulated his dick … her long hair bouncing on her tits as she thrust against him … well, if this wasn't heaven, it was a very close approximation.

Severus slipped one hand between her legs, dipping his fingers into her labia to seek her clitoris, and began to stroke and toy with it, making her gasp and her encouraging her hips to speed their movements. His other hand returned to her breasts, alternately tweaking and gently twisting at her nipples, both now hard and seeking attention.

"Fuck me harder, Hermione," he hissed, feeling the tight clench of his jaw that indicated just how bloody aroused he was. "You are like a Siren, a Succubus; as you straddle me in this firelight, a true witch – bewitching … enchanting …"

His mouth was running away with him, and it wasn't the only body part he was losing control of, surrendering himself entirely to this girl.

Her hips sped to a blur as she pushed herself over the edge, and he fell with her, crying out in relief as his orgasm released, and he held her around the waist, guiding and slowing her movements as he wound down.

Severus stared at her, glowing with the flush of her own orgasm, looking deliciously debauched, yet still innocent and beguiling. How did he ever get so fucking lucky?

He never wanted to let her go.


	24. Chapter 24

"It is red."

"And is that all I am permitted to know?"

"Yes. You can see it tomorrow night, the same as everyone else."

"I doubt that anyone else attending the ball will be thinking the same thoughts that I shall, when I see you in your Yule gown."

"I hope not," Hermione grinned, leaning back on his chest and allowing her professor to nuzzle the side of her neck, his long nose just brushing against her ear as his lips sought the sensitive cords beneath it.

They were sprawled on the old sofa in his private quarters, she in her pyjamas and he in his shirtsleeves and trousers, having so far only shaken off half the day. He smelled of dungeon classroom and potions ingredients, and there was a small scorch mark on the back on his hand, caused by brief explosive moment during first-year Potions that afternoon.

It was Friday, the night before the Yule Ball, and unusually, Snape was not on night patrol. Professor McGonagall had saved his duty for tomorrow night, where spirits would be running high after the ball, and she needed her most fearsome member of staff to quell them in order that students would get to bed with as little trouble as possible after an evening of merriment.

Tonight's honour, he told her, had been granted to Professor Trelawney, whose airy manner usually made her a most unsuitable candidate for effecting any kind of discipline during a night patrol. McGonagall believed that there was unlikely to be any trouble today, with students getting an early night, and saving any 'wild' behaviour for the following evening.

Hermione had received a late call from him, through their Floo connection, shortly before she had been about to retire to bed; but had been pleased to step through. She found him looking tired and cross on his sofa, noting that the dining table was yet again piled up with books, quills and several baskets crammed with parchment scrolls – all rolled-up essays that it was his duty to mark, no doubt.

Snape's teaching robes and coat had been thrown haphazardly onto the back of an armchair, and his shirt looked as if he'd tugged at the collar and cuffs in an irritated fashion, as though he'd been keen to rid himself of the constriction; but couldn't actually be bothered. His long legs were stretched out along the full length of the sofa, and he was holding a half-smoked cigarette in his fingers, flicking the detritus into an ashtray just within reach, on the side table.

"Come here," he beckoned, as she'd entered, pulling her down to sit between his thighs and lay her spine against his chest as she looked up at the darkened ceiling of his living room, lit by a few beams of flickering light from the wall sconces.

He'd planted some rough kisses in her hair, small intimacies that made her stomach lurch and her heart beat faster. No matter how familiar their position now was, together, Snape was still dangerous, still forbidden. The thrill of simply being with him, outside of the classroom, sent the blood rushing to her head – and she couldn't get enough. Like most Gryffindors, she always wanted more.

Hermione had felt the rise of his chest as he inhaled from his cigarette; and smelt the tendrils of smoke as he breathed out. Smoking wasn't something she'd ever found particularly pleasant, but somehow with him … it was just him. His ways. Something he did. Strangely, Hermione found she did not mind it at all.

Snape was nibbling and sucking at the side of her neck, sending little pulses of pleasure running through her body, right down to her bare toes. The thought that her severe professor was looking forward to something as banal as seeing her in her Yule Ball finery was exciting, and it made Hermione want to work hard on her appearance the following evening. She was not usually swayed by such frippery, but just sometimes, it was nice to embrace all the fun that being an adult witch could be, and that included a night dressing up.

"Don't leave a mark on my neck," she murmured. "That won't go with my dress."

"You are a capable witch. If I do mark you, simply cast a glamour charm to cover it."

His voice was thick with lust as he turned his attentions to her neck in earnest; nipping at her earlobe, licking down the side of her throat before mauling the curve of her shoulder with rough, sucking kisses. Hermione loved it. It made her feel powerful. The dark wizard had made no secret of his desire for her. There was no stupid game-playing in their … well, she could hardly call it a relationship, but between them. He wanted her, she wanted him, and so they took from one another and gave in return.

Not for the first time, Hermione wondered if it was anything more, but dampened that thought down the best she could, for it seemed inappropriate to ask. They were just lucky they hadn't been discovered. Anything … more, could be discussed once she'd left school.

Perhaps.

She heard a noise of pleasure escape her lips as Snape continued his attentions, especially since one of his arms had slipped around her body and a large hand was now cupping her breast.

"I wish I could dance with you tomorrow night," she murmured.

He made a small coughing noise, behind her, and withdrew his lips from her skin.

"You would be the only witch with whom it would be my pleasure to dance with," he replied, gruffly.

"Really?"

"You sound surprised."

"Oh, I don't know. I'd expected you to scoff; and tell me you hated dancing."

"I do not hate dancing."

"You can dance? And you like it?"

The professor drew both his arms around her; and pulled her closer to his chest. Hermione turned her upper body slightly to the side, so that her ear was resting on his shirt, and she could feel the rumble of his deep voice against it.

"Yes, girl, I can dance. Moving in pureblood Slytherin circles whilst a student, meant that I adopted a few of their ways. I learned their social expectations and customs, such as being able to lead a witch in a formal dance, not that I am invited to many balls, these days."

"Who were your friends? You know, at school?"

"I doubt you would know of them, but I believe that you are aware of one Regulus Black? He was a year younger than I, but a great friend, and we were united through our mutual hatred of his brother."

"Sirius was a very good man," Hermione replied, wanting to defend her friend's godfather, and the foolhardy, but very kind and brave, man she had known.

"Not to me, he wasn't."

There was a tense silence, as she, and it seemed he also, forced themselves to accept that they had wildly different opinions about Sirius Black. It was probably better not to discuss it.

Hermione trailed her fingers over his upper arm, feeling the strength in his bicep through his white shirt. His muscles were surprisingly defined for one so slim, and the sheer magical power radiated from him, even at rest.

"I never discovered what became of Regulus," he continued, unexpectedly. "He went missing not long before the Dark Lord killed the Potters. I presumed that Black must have displeased the Death Eaters and was therefore … eliminated."

"I know what happened," she blurted, before she even thought about the good sense of what she was saying.

He pushed her to sitting, turning her in his arms so that he could see her face.

"Tell me?"

Hermione gave him a truncated rendition of Kreacher's tale, seeing the sadness and shame reflected in his black eyes.

"Well, then," he said, once she had finished. "It is highly likely that I created the potion that killed one of the few men I would call a friend."

She sat between his legs, taking both his hands in hers, thumbing them gently to attempt to provide a quiet comfort as he processed the information she had just imparted to him.

After a short pause, Snape extracted his legs from hers, and stood up, keeping hold of her hand and tugging Hermione to her feet.

"May I request the pleasure of this dance?"

"What?"

"If we cannot dance tomorrow night at the ball, we shall dance now."

Drawing his wand, he cast a subtle movement in the air, and whispered a curious series of incantations. All the furniture suddenly flung itself back against the walls, creating a larger space, and the lyrical swell of a slow waltz filled the room.

"Music? But how …?"

Hermione's eyes darted around the room, looking for a gramophone, or a wizarding wireless.

"Sometimes, Miss Granger, you forget who I am, and what I am capable of."

He gave her a slightly arrogant smile as he tucked his wand back into his sleeve, before taking her in a formal hold, as they had been shown in fourth year.

"Now, to dance?"

She smiled. Already his confident hold felt different to the nervous attempts of the Gryffindor boys. Allowing him to sweep her around the room, albeit in a confined space, it was a relief to be led, to be guided. Hermione was a quick study, and had learned basic dance skills swiftly, but Snape was a master, it seemed, and her body bent to his lead, just as it did when he made love to her.

"You're a very good dancer," she told him, honestly.

"I did what was expected of me," he answered, splaying his hand on her back to draw her a little tighter.

The music appeared to slow, along with their movements. Soon, they were barely moving, and his hand had crept to her face, caressing her cheek with his fingertips before leaning in to place the lightest kiss on her lips. His feet and hips were still swaying to the beat of the music, that had somehow become a more contemporary tune, full of soul, and the movements of his body prompted hers.

"Now this," he muttered, curling a lock of her hair around his finger, "is why we cannot dance in the Great Hall tomorrow night."

"I believe this kind of dancing would be considered inappropriate," she replied, smiling, and tilting her chin up to receive another soft kiss.

"This is what I will blast students out of the rose garden for doing."

"That's rather mean."

"If I cannot kiss the witch I desire, neither can they."

Their lips were so close, they were brushing against each other with every word spoken.

"You'll have to kiss me now, then, Severus."

"Oh, I intend to."

The professor crashed his mouth down upon hers with a ferocity that made her squeal, and he swallowed the noise, pushing his tongue between her lips whilst holding firm to the back of her head. Her mouth was full to the brim with his rolling, coiling tongue, and Snape held her so tightly.

He snogged her with a passion that made her head spin, her knees buckle, and she returned every bit of it; listening to the music with closed eyes, imagining that they were any normal couple, getting it on, on the dance floor. His other hand on her bottom, pressing her hips against his as he swayed, only enhanced her pleasure.

Severus Snape was quite the devastating kisser.

-xxx-

The following evening, it had not taken Severus very long to regret his decision not to fuck the girl whilst he'd had the chance.

She had entered the ball alongside her friends, looking so astoundingly beautiful in her long, red gown that it had taken much restraint not to fall to his knees and declare his undying love before the entire school. Whilst many Gryffindor girls resembled gaudy Christmas decorations in their scarlet finery, Granger's floor-length dress was such a dark red that it was beginning to veer towards black, like a baccara rose. The girl was an exquisite flower that he wanted to unwrap, and pull the garment from her body, piece by piece.

Her curls were tamed, for once, and were spilling down her back in sumptuous waves that he wanted to touch, now. The top of the dress resembled a Grecian toga wrapped around her, gathered at the waist with a gold clasp, before falling in layers down her legs and around her feet. When she moved, Severus could see there was a split in the skirts that went all the way up, but it was still modest, offering only the slightest tantalising glimpse should she move in a certain way.

Suddenly, he was hit with a pang of angry jealousy. He didn't want every little shit in this hall feasting their undeserving eyes upon her, unworthy teenage runts who had no business gazing upon a witch who was a far greater prize that any of them would ever win.

And you are; you stupid bastard?

His own innate negativity crushed his train of thought with the power of a well-cast Reducto curse. Severus attempted to get a hold of himself, and stalked over to the beverages table, where wine and other spirits were laid out for the staff, and for the older students who were of age to drink it.

The entire staff had been summoned to arrive in the Great Hall, lavishly decorated for Yule, in advance of the students. Once there, Minerva had given them all strict instructions regarding their own conduct; including the necessity of dancing, and using sensible judgment pertaining to alcohol consumption.

Since Filius Flitwick already had one drunken elbow in a bowl of strawberry blancmange, Severus suspected that the diminutive Charms professor had not taken her advice. Flitwick was a notorious drunk, but at least he was amusing, unlike Sybill Trelawney who spent most of the time in a mildly depressed, inebriated state, her breath stinking of cooking sherry purloined from the kitchens.

The staff had been obliged to open the dancing, and Minerva had firmly taken his wrist and dragged him to the centre of the dance floor, all the while managing to make it look as if he were accompanying her willingly.

"Did you have to?" he moaned, as he dutifully turned her into the first formal waltz.

"I did, Severus, yes," she replied. "I'm not having you stand in the corner like a dark ghost all evening."

"Is your concern for my happiness your sole reason for strong-arming me to the dance floor?"

"Well, of course not, boy. You were the best choice. Can you imagine me attempting to dance with Filius or Rubeus? Plus, you can dance. I remember, Severus."

"You should have been a Slytherin, Minerva."

"How rude, Severus."

He arranged his features in a neutral line; although truthfully, he found her rather funny, and continued to glide the surprisingly-elegant Headmistress around the floor. The last Yule Ball, she had opened the dancing with Albus, and they had made a handsome partnership, both skilled at dance and equally flamboyant fucking Gryffindors. The pair had remained on the dance floor for a long time that night, and Severus wondered if Minerva was remembering him now. Not that he was going to ask, given the circumstances of the man's demise.

As soon as the waltz finished, he released her into the hands of Hagrid, who had been waiting for the opportunity. The look of helpless resignation she shot him as he left the dance floor was worth the month of night patrols she'd probably schedule, in revenge.

Following the lead of the Longbottom boy, who respectfully asked his mentor Pomona Sprout for the next dance, some of the other staff began to pair off with the older students, which would have been amusing had Severus not been so fearful that he'd be expected to do the same. Unbidden, his eyes travelled the room, seeking the beauty in the baccara-red dress. They met, only for a split-second, for they could not risk more. They could not risk giving in to the temptation of dancing together. He knew that.

-xxx-

Hermione broke her eyes away from his black gaze just as soon as it had connected. Yes, there were students dancing with teachers, but she doubted that Neville Longbottom was having mind-blowing sex with Professor Sprout. She couldn't be that close to him in a public setting, not after he had kissed her senseless last night, ending their brief dancing session. She picked up her glass of red wine, sipping it slowly, because the last thing she wanted to do was to get drunk and embarrass herself at such a big occasion.

Looking around at some of the other seventh-years, it seemed that not all of them were of the same opinion as her. Ernie Macmillan was already extremely tipsy, his ruddy face even more florid than usual, pulling a confused looking Ravenclaw around the dance floor.

Professor Briner approached their table, and to Hermione's horror he seemed in a worse state than Ernie. His cravat was pulled loose, and his forehead was sweaty. He lurched towards Hannah, taking her hand and urging her to her feet.

"What say you and I take a turn about the dance floor, Miss Abbott?"

It was not a request, nor a polite question. Without waiting for a response, he tugged Hannah towards the floor, clamping her into a formal hold that looked distinctly uncomfortable and starting to sway without skill or finesse. Hermione could not hear what she was saying, but it appeared that Hannah was attempting to reason with him; and trying to extricate herself.

Susan, who was sitting with them, made a tutting noise, and set off towards the drinks table, pouring herself a large goblet of mead and tossing it back in a few gulps before pouring another one. Poor Susan. This crush was exquisitely painful for her, but at that moment, Hermione was more concerned with Hannah.

Drumming her fingers on the table top, she watched Briner intently, not trusting him for a second. Her suspicions were proved right, when the Transfiguration professor dropped his head to Hannah's neck, as if he were trying to nuzzle her. That was enough for Hermione. She leapt from her seat and began to stride on to the dance floor, before noticing that Hannah's rescuer was already there.

"Get your hands off her! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The voice of Neville Longbottom could be heard loud and clear above the music, and he did not waste a moment.

"Excuse me Professor," he said to Sprout, releasing his dance partner with impeccable manners before stepping over to where Briner was 'dancing' with his girlfriend, putting his hands in between their bodies and forcing them apart.

"Fuck off, Longbottom," Briner spat, attempting to draw Hannah back against him and finding himself blocked by the tall, wide form of Neville, who had physically stepped in front of the witch he was protecting.

"I will. And I'll be taking my girlfriend with me."

"As if an idiotic dick like you could ever satisfy a hot little piece like Abbott," the professor sneered.

"Professor Briner!"

The strident voice rang out across the Great Hall, and everyone turned to see the Headmistress walking quickly towards them, summoned by Professor Sprout.

"What is this disgusting behaviour, Richard?" McGonagall asked, icily.

"Nothing, Minerva. Only a jealous young man here. How dare you put your hands on me, Longbottom?"

McGonagall narrowed her eyes at the wizard who had taken her cherished position in the Transfiguration classroom. The band had seen the disturbance and stopped playing, which meant that the silence was deafening. Everyone wanted to see and hear what would happen next. Neville now had Hannah in his arms, and the two of them stood defiant before the professors.

"I am, Richard, possessed with excellent hearing, and indeed vision, too. You have clearly had too much to drink, but that does not excuse your behaviour towards Miss Abbott, and your words to Mr Longbottom. This is reprehensible for a teacher. I suggest that you remove yourself from the Great Hall immediately and retire to your chambers. Tomorrow morning you should attend my office and we will discuss your future here at Hogwarts, for I am most severely displeased."

Professor Briner stared at his employer for a few moments, as if he was deciding whether to fight or flee, before turning on his heel without a word and stalking out of the hall, his boots clacking on the stone floor in the silence.

Hermione wasn't sure if people were going to burst into spontaneous applause, as it seemed that everyone was holding their breath.

McGonagall clapped her hands briskly.

"Music, if you please! The situation is dealt with. Continue with your evening; and let this be a lesson to you all, on the dangers of consuming more alcohol than you can tolerate!"

The band began to play again, a lively tune that soon had many students dancing again, Hannah now safely in the arms of Neville, who was smiling, and encouraging the distressed girl to return it.

Professor Flitwick slid off his chair and under the table, dragging the blancmange with him.

No one noticed.


	25. Chapter 25

Severus cast his eye over the Great Hall, feeling a mixture of annoyance and boredom. He'd quite enjoyed watching Richard Briner, the sleazy bastard, sent to bed early by Minerva after attempting to grope Miss Abbott on the dance floor. How deliciously humiliating for him. Hopefully Briner would be fired, and a more effective Transfiguration teacher could be sought.

He tried very hard not to think of his own indiscretions, with a particular student.

Filius had been dragged out from under the staff table and removed from the Great Hall by a couple of house-elves, and the new Muggle Studies professor had already proclaimed herself exhausted and headed for her chambers. Staff numbers were dwindling, and although the first to fourth years had already been sent unwillingly to their common rooms, the older students were showing no signs of slowing down. Severus wished they would all just fuck off to bed so that he had a chance of seeking Granger out whilst she was still wearing that dress.

Andrea Masters spun over to the staff table, flushed from dancing, and was handed a glass of water by Minerva.

"Having fun, Andrea?"

"Oh yes," Masters replied. "What an excellent treat for both the students and us professors!"

The bloody woman, whom he had not forgiven for having the gall to grope his cock in the corridor, had been whirling about the floor with all manner of partners, mostly seventh-year boys who looked not to believe their luck.

It was true that she looked extremely attractive tonight, even more so than she normally did, dressed in a sumptuous gown of the darkest black, so close-fitting that it clung to her every curve. But he was still not interested. In fact, the more she pushed for his attention, the more repulsive he found her.

The music changed tempo, slowing down and finally signifying that the ball might be approaching a close at some point before dawn broke.

"Now, this is more my style!" exclaimed Pomona Sprout, heaving herself from the chair and taking the offered arm of Hagrid, who was inexplicably keen on dancing, despite being so physically unsuited to it.

The gamekeeper was a damn liability on the dance floor.

"Severus?"

Andrea Masters was holding her hand out to him. He raised an eyebrow in response, to convey his complete disinterest in what she was suggesting.

"Come, Severus. You've not danced all night, apart from the first with Minerva, and I noticed that you were rather skilled. Indulge me?"

He was about to open his mouth and tell her that he fucking would not, when Minerva herself jumped in.

"Tchh, Severus! Go and dance with the woman! Andrea has not another young wizard under the age of fifty here to cut a rug with her. On my orders – off you go!"

The headmistress clapped her hands briskly to suggest that she would brook no argument. Severus unwillingly took his loathed colleague's hand and allowed her to lead him to the dance floor, where she kept tugging until they were in the very centre.

"Do we have to do this in the middle of the floor?" he muttered, as he held out his arms for a formal hold, and she stepped into them, sliding her hand too far across his shoulder and dangerously close to his neck.

"I think this is the very best place to … do it, Severus," she replied. "For the young witch that is keeping you from accepting my proposal is likely here, watching you. Let us leave her in no doubt that you belong to me, and she is nothing but a dalliance for you."

"You have a nerve."

"I do, when there is something I want."

The sooner this dance finished, and he'd extracted himself from the clutches of this bitch, the better. Damn his respect for Minerva McGonagall that he would not make a scene during the event she had organised. Andrea's hand crept further upwards, so that her fingers were on the edge of his starched cravat, knotted over his collar.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he hissed, trying to create some space between them as she did the opposite.

"Do you think we look as if we are together, Professor Snape? Do you think the students might be remarking on what a handsome couple we make?"

"I sincerely hope not."

She dug the fingernails of her other hand into his upper arm.

"Adolescent witches are notoriously jealous creatures, especially if they have imbibed too much alcohol into their precocious little stomachs. If I am correct, we should soon see a young lady running from the Great Hall in distress, her poor heart broken by the devilish Potions master."

Andrea pulled a mock-concerned face that made Severus want to slap it.

"You are ruthless, in addition to being delusional."

"No confidence in your teenage toy, Professor?"

Severus kept his eyes firmly fixed on the demon in his arms, lest his gaze should inadvertently slip towards Miss Granger and reveal their association.

-xxx-

Hermione was standing in a cluster with Neville and Hannah when the music slowed, and Hannah tugged her boyfriend to the dance floor, with apologies for leaving Hermione alone.

Waving them off, she told her friends to enjoy themselves and not worry about her, smiling at the sight of them in one another's arms, both clearly smitten with their choice of partner. Neville deserved a loving relationship more than anyone else she knew; and getting to know Hannah over this term had been wonderful – she really was a kind, warm and straightforward person.

Other couples had made their way to the dance floor, and there was a fair bit of furtive snogging and groping going on. She smiled at the sight of Professor Sprout attempting to slow-dance with Hagrid – the two of them should have been awarded points for sheer perseverance in the face of great adversity.

Swinging her eyes across the floor as she took another sip of her wine, Hermione's eyes met with a sight that caused her stomach to drop down to her feet.

Snape was dancing with Professor Masters, and the two of them were very close indeed.

"Look at Snape and Masters!" came a voice behind her.

"Are they together?" said another.

"Suppose someone's got to shag the greasy git, eh?"

"They look right together, don't they? All that black!"

All around her, students were gossiping, staring at the two teachers dancing together. Hermione's heart began to beat very fast, and she took a large slug of her wine before putting the glass down on the table, wishing she hadn't, since she was feeling rather nauseous.

"He can't take his eyes off her!"

"Would you? Masters is bloody hot."

"Well, who would have thought it? Everyone deserves love, I suppose."

Snape was slowly whirling Professor Masters around the dance floor, and his eyes were locked on hers, the gossips had not lied. Hermione could see that one of her hands was practically around his neck, in a very intimate hold.

All Hermione could think about was her birthday, when she had seen Snape snatch his hand away from Professor Masters in the Three Broomsticks. They had discussed it, afterwards. He had not elaborated on exactly what had happened; but assured her that she was the only witch he was, or ever had been, intimate with. Hermione had believed him. They had learned intimacy together, in the most breathtaking of ways. Snape had touched her in places that made her toes curl; and driven her climaxes to the highest points before allowing her to release in an explosion of bliss.

So, what was … this?

Just as Hermione felt she was about to lose her head, she was being strong-armed on to the dancefloor, swept up in a wave of black dress robes and a tight hold. In a blur, she was whirled into the throng of slow dancers, supported by a steady frame and a hard chest. She looked up.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Rescuing you, Granger."

"Did I give any indication that I needed saving, Malfoy?"

"When you look like you're about to vomit on your own shoes, yes. That is, unless you want the entire school to know that you're in love with Snape."

"What?"

"Old news, Granger. I've known for months."

"But, what did you, how …?"

"Your words appear to have deserted you," he teased, smirking in an irritating manner as he confidently moved her around the floor to the slow music. "So, let me save you the trouble. Near the beginning of term, I was lurking in a hidden window seat in a usually empty passage. The one just off the trophy corridor. You know the one, I'm sure?"

Oh … bloody hell. The night she'd attended supper with a distinct lack of knickers.

Her face must have given away her memory of that night, as he began to chuckle, quietly.

"After you left, I managed to scuff my foot on the window ledge, and Snape heard it. He was looking everywhere for the source of the noise. I was disillusioned, but he came fucking close. I was absolutely shitting myself … with what I'd just seen."

"And what did you see?"

"Do you really want to talk about that, Granger? Frankly the less I remember of Snape's hand up your skirt, the better."

Hermione felt herself blush to the very roots of her hair.

"I saw you again, another night. And no, I'm not stalking you. The stupid bastard kissed you at the end of the guest corridor, where bloody anyone could have seen you, not just me."

"Oh, my goodness. Have you …?"

"Told anyone? I'm a nasty bastard, Granger, not fucking suicidal."

The fact that Draco was still terrified of Snape brought a smile to her lips, and Hermione felt the panicked feeling begin to lessen slightly, allowing her to stop fighting against the dance that she and Draco were engaged in.

"So, why are we dancing?"

"You were about to reveal far too much. Bloody Gryffindor, feelings written all over your face. Half the staff probably think we're together anyway, if sleazy cunt Briner had anything to do with it, so, they'll just continue to think that, if they see us dancing together. Your secret fling with the Potions master stays a secret."

"Why would you want to help me?"

He paused for a moment, and the expression on his face suggested that he was thinking hard. Suddenly, Draco slipped his arms around her back in a far more intimate hold, and moved his face nearer, making her wonder if he was about to try and kiss her.

"Because," he whispered, "I know Severus. I've known him for many years. I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you. The poor bastard deserves this. I'm not sure you do, since I'm presuming that he is a psychotic deviant, but you seem happy enough."

Hermione was lost for words. He'd known, all this time, and kept it to himself, only revealing his knowledge to assist her in keeping the secret? She'd never have believed it of Draco Malfoy. She felt herself fully relax into his hold, finally.

"Should I take it that you are on board with my plan, now? I'll have you know I had to think bloody quickly."

"Thank you, Draco."

He leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead. She hadn't expected it; and was surprised that her first thought was that he smelled amazing. Her second thought was what on earth he thought he was doing, and her face must have betrayed her consternation.

"Got to keep this convincing," he quipped, winking at her.

A small, blonde girl in an aquamarine ballgown pushed her way through the crowd that were watching the dancefloor, her eyes full of tears and clearly desperate to get out of the Great Hall.

"You did tell Astoria what you were doing?"

"Of course I didn't. I didn't think of anything beyond stopping you falling over. Fuck."

"Draco! The poor girl looks distraught. I think you may have just ruined the start of something beautiful."

"I'll go and find her in a while. That'll give me time to think of an explanation that doesn't involve revealing your torrid affair with a teacher."

"Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

They both smiled, and Draco's was warm and genuine. He really was proving to be a big surprise.

-xxx-

Whilst they were dancing, however unwillingly on his part, both he and Masters watched Astoria Greengrass run from the Great Hall in tears.

"Fifth formers, Severus? How very louche, even for a Death Eater."

"You are disgusting, Mrs Rookwood."

"Not as disgusting as you, sleeping with underage girls."

"Whatever has caused Miss Greengrass distress, I can assure you it has nothing whatsoever to do with me, Andrea, and I will thank you to keep your scurrilous mouth firmly closed."

"You can protest all you want, Professor, for it would appear I have staked my claim on you tonight. None of the girls will risk trying to take what is so clearly mine. I have good relationships with my students, they like and respect me, boys and girls alike. They will not want to ruin my happiness."

"Your happiness? You have talked yourself into believing that there is something between us, and I must caution you, yet again, to desist."

"I'm sure you will come around to my way of thinking, in the end," she replied, infuriating him even further by casting her eye around the dance floor with a benign smile upon her face. "Look at all these young couples, Severus. Young people partnered with those of the same age … just as they should be."

Her words kicked him in the gut, picking at the guilt that always festered beneath the surface; guilt that he was engaging in lewd acts with a witch young enough to be his daughter. He did not answer her. Andrea was still wittering, making the kind of small talk that one would expect from a partner, and it was grinding on his last nerve.

"… and look at Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger! Minerva said there was no way the two of them could be together, that their feud went back too far, but look at them now! What an adorable couple they make."

For once, the damn witch spoke the truth. Severus looked over at Malfoy and Granger with ill grace, for they did indeed look wonderful together, although with such a prize in his arms, Malfoy would have to go some distance to embarrass himself. They were chatting, conversing easily, and the way he was holding her … it was too intimate. It wasn't lewd, he had to admit, but it just seemed closer than a standard dance hold, such as the once he was trying to keep Andrea Masters in, although she was subtly fighting him the whole time.

Get your filthy hands off her, he thought, and a jealousy that he hadn't felt for twenty years rose up from his gut and threatened to spill rancid bile into his throat.

When Draco Malfoy retained his hold on Miss Granger and twisted her into the next dance, it was easiest for Severus to stay where he was, rather than stalking off into a black cloud of indignance.

Unfortunately, Andrea Masters couldn't have been more pleased.

-xxx-

An hour later, when the ball had ended; the stragglers were being rounded up, before being ordered to their dormitories. It was finally time for the clearance on the Great Hall to start, and for Severus' night patrol to begin. Firmly bidding the other staff a good night, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the hall, in the sheer hope that the Defence professor would not attempt to follow him.

Thankfully, it appeared that Pomona Sprout had Andrea otherwise engaged in magically clearing the tables, so she was not able to leave, even if she had wanted to.

As he left the Great Hall and crossed the entrance hall, where Filch was securing the main doors, Severus was accosted by Draco Malfoy and the older Greengrass sister, who practically collided with him, such was their pace.

"Curfew has passed, Miss Greengrass, Mr Malfoy," he told them, icily, not at all keen to extend pleasantries to Draco-fucking-Malfoy at present.

"We know, Sir, I'm sorry," panted Miss Greengrass. "But my sister, she's missing!"

"Missing? Explain."

"She was upset earlier, because of him," she spat, shooting a furious glare at Draco.

"It wasn't my fault!"

"It bloody was! You took Astoria to the ball; and ended up dancing with Hermione Granger! How could you do that?"

"I told you, I had to! I was going to explain to Astoria later, that's why I was in the common room, looking for her so I could tell her everything!"

Snape raised an eyebrow, silencing their quarrel with a single gesture.

"I'm sorry, Sir," apologised Greengrass, with a small cough. "Astoria's friends told me that they hadn't seen her since she ran out of the ball, and when I returned to the Slytherin common room a short while ago, a couple of second years told me that they seen her in the passageway outside the common room entrance, crying to Professor Briner, who had his arm around her!"

"That is the actual problem, since he's already assaulted one girl this evening," Draco pointed out, rather unnecessarily.

"Professor Briner was ordered to his private rooms hours ago," Severus told the students, his mind already searching for a rational explanation.

"I don't think he stayed there. It seems he was lurking around outside the Slytherin common room instead, Sir," Greengrass told him, her agitation building.

A distressed adolescent who believed her new boyfriend to be cheating on her would make easy prey for a predatory bastard like Richard Briner, who had seen his attempts thwarted earlier, in a very humiliating public display. So, they had been in the dungeon corridor, where would they have gone next, outside? No, it was December, and far too cold for that. It was unlikely that Richard would risk anywhere inside the castle, for he may be discovered. If Briner had taken the girl, where were the places they could remain undiscovered?

To his intense shame, Severus knew exactly where Briner would have taken her.

The only place he could be guaranteed privacy with Miss Granger was to secrete her in his own quarters. In his own, private bedroom, Severus had fucked her – many, many times, in there. Yes, and her own room also, but Astoria Greengrass was a fifth-former, resident in her a shared dormitory, so that would not have been an option.

It took one predator to know another, he realised, in disgust at his own actions.

"If your sister is with Professor Briner," Severus told them, "I believe I know where they will be. Please accompany me to the Transfiguration classroom."

Daphne Greengrass looked horrified, and Malfoy looked furious. Severus spun on his heel, striding noiselessly at a great pace towards the staircase, where a rabbit warren of corridors would lead them to the one that housed the Transfiguration classroom, and thus, Briner's private quarters.

Severus realised, as he sped through the stone corridors with his cloak flying behind him and gormless portraits gaping at them, how much he missed the headmaster's privilege of Apparating within Hogwarts. The anti-Apparation wards were no fucking use in an emergency, such as this.

Draco pushed open the door of the Transfiguration classroom and they walked in, to see the room empty, and nothing untoward. Malfoy and Greengrass looked at him, helplessly, as if wondering what the hell to do next.

"Use your brains," he sneered at both students, stalking straight past them and up the two stairs of the teaching platform, to the door at the very back of the classroom – Briner's professorial quarters.

He knocked hard at the door.

"Fuck off!" came Briner's voice from inside, followed a by the unmistakeable sound of a girl's scream, quickly muffled.

"Astoria!"

There was no time to waste. Severus drew his wand and cast the strongest Bombarda he could at the door, which crumbled beneath the might of his spell, blasting the door into a dozen pieces that scattered across the floor, the final piece hanging limply from the metal door hinge, swinging pathetically.

Briner was on the bed, red-faced and sweating with his trousers at his knees and his bare arse in the air, forcing himself viciously between the legs of the younger Miss Greengrass, who appeared to be fighting him every step of the way. The upper part of her formal dress had been ripped from her body, and the skirts were askew as Briner attempted to thrust his way past the copious yards of material.

Before Severus could raise his wand to immobilise the raping scum, Malfoy had pushed past him and thrown himself at the Transfiguration professor in the manner of a Muggle brawler, knocking him off the bed and onto the stone floor, throwing wild punches anywhere that his fists could reach.

Daphne Greengrass ran to the bed and scooped up her weeping sister, pulling her to sit up and embracing her tightly, pushing her straggled hair back from her red face and kissing her. The girl neatly summoned a blanket from the end of the bed and pulled it over the younger Miss Greengrass, covering her body to preserve her modesty and provide comfort. No doubt being found in this state by her male Head of House would be almost as distressing as the attack itself.

"Enough, Draco," he said, quietly, once he had allowed Malfoy to get in a good few punches, and a stamp to Briner's groin that would have him in pain for days.

He cast Immobulus, ensuring that the bastard could not escape the justice that would surely come his way, not that he really needed to – the man was rolling in agony. He indicated with a flick of his eyes that Draco should attend to the Greengrass sisters, while he cast his doe Patronus to summon both Minerva, and Madam Pomfrey, for the girl would surely need medical assistance. The doe looked a bit feeble, but then he supposed he had not cast it for a long time, not since he had sent it to Potter, that night in the forest.

Minerva appeared within a minute, Apparating directly into the room, as was her right as headmistress.

"Severus, what is going on … oh!"

Her eyes swept the room, taking in the immobile Richard Briner on the floor, his trousers down and his bruised cock miserably exposed. They then turned to the scene on the bed – a weeping fifth-former in disarray, being comforted by her sister.

"Miss Greengrass and Mr Malfoy alerted me to her sister's disappearance, as she was in some distress after an incident at the ball," he told Minerva, shooting an angry glare at Draco. "Richard was seen by some Slytherins to be loitering in the dungeon corridor, and later comforting the younger Miss Greengrass. They had not been seen since then. Suspecting this, we made our way here, where we found Richard raping Miss Greengrass on the bed."

"He wasn't raping me, he didn't get it in!" shouted Astoria, clearly distraught. "As if I wanted that sleazy bastard inside me!"

Minerva hurried over the bed and sat down.

"Astoria, my dear, Professor Snape has summoned Madam Pomfrey, and she will be here shortly. Are you hurt?"

"Hurt pride, mostly, but yes, I have some scratches and stuff."

Pulling her arms out of the blanket, Severus could see bruises already beginning to form. Clearly his Slytherin had fought the fully-grown wizard like a wildcat. Good girl.

"But dear, why were you here? Why would you be in a professor's private quarters?"

"Stupidly, I thought Professor Briner was being nice to me. I was upset."

"Which she wouldn't have been, if you hadn't been such a complete arsehole, Draco Malfoy!" interjected Daphne.

"Miss Greengrass!" admonished Minerva, towards the older sister.

"I was going to tell her!" shot back Malfoy.

"Tell her what? That you asked her to the ball to make Hermione Granger jealous?"

"What does Miss Granger have to do with this?" asked Minerva, confused.

"Malfoy was dancing with her, when he had asked my sister to accompany him to the ball," Daphne told her, seething with anger.

"I told you, I had to dance with Granger!"

"Why? Why would you have to dance with her?" the girl shouted back.

"Because she's my friend! And because the wizard she loves was all over someone else, and if I hadn't stepped in, I don't know what she'd have done! She was distraught – it was all over her face."

Severus felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dropped down his back. Granger – in love with someone else? Who?

"Dear me, what a lot of drama the idea of love causes," Minerva observed, as the school Medi-witch entered the room and was given a brief summary of what had happened.

After seeing that Astoria Greengrass was able to stand, Pomfrey escorted her out of the room to take her to the infirmary, still wrapped in the blanket and accompanied by her sister. Minerva, who had still not spoken a word to Richard Briner, now walked over to him, the disgust on her face plain to see. She released Severus' Immobulus, and he sat up, groaning in pain.

"Get up, Richard, and pull up your trousers. To think I was willing to give you a chance, after your behaviour in the Great Hall tonight, to explain yourself. You are a disgrace to the teaching profession. You will give me your wand, and accompany me to my office, immediately, where I have summoned the Aurors and they will be waiting for you. Severus, I presume you would be willing to bear witness of rape, or attempted rape, when his case goes to trial, to prevent Astoria from having to do so?"

"I will."

"Very well, then. My office, Richard. Now."

They left the room, with Richard Briner finally getting the retribution he deserved. Granger would be delighted when he told her …

Oh.

Hermione. 

He whirled around to face Draco, who was just getting off the bed from where he had been seated next to Miss Greengrass.

"Not so fast … Mr Malfoy. You have some explaining to do yourself, I believe."

"Oh, come off it, Severus," he replied, insolently. "You and I have known each other for a long time now. We've seen one another go through sheer fucking hell before the Dark Lord. We're more than teacher and student, you know that."

Severus narrowed his eyes. What did the boy know?

"Who is Miss Granger in love with?"

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Draco rolled his eyes; and had the gall to smirk at him.

"Please tell me you're not that stupid?"

They stared at each other for a long time, both breathing hard. He couldn't know. He couldn't possibly know.

"It was you," he said, quietly.

"That night in the passageway off the trophy corridor? Oh yes. And let me tell you, Severus, I fucking nearly shit myself when you heard me."

Unbidden, a small smirk crept to his lips at the thought of the terror that Draco must have felt.

"Why were you concealed there?"

"I was there first, okay? I was tucked up in the window seat, disillusioned, just enjoying some quiet time, looking out over the grounds. That was at the beginning of term, things were so new and strange, back then. We'd all just returned … after everything that had happened. I suppose I was a bit maudlin. I didn't know you were going to stand right by where I was and start fingering Granger, did I?"

Severus felt his face flush with embarrassment.

"Draco …" he warned.

"I've kept it secret, haven't I? Even when I saw you a second time, kissing her goodnight at the end of the guest corridor when I had sneaked out one night. Not exactly careful, are you?"

"If you knew just many times … just how careful we have been."

"Good for you, then, Sir," Draco smirked, with an annoyingly satisfied expression on his face.

"I trust you will continue to keep your silence? It goes without saying that were we to be discovered …"

Draco held up his hands in surrender.

"I'm not saying a word. I'd be too fucking scared to."

The boy had performed well, Severus had to admit. He had offered himself as an ally and had proved he could be trusted.

"You said she loves me," he stated, quickly, before he could regret it. "Of course, she doesn't love me. This is purely a … mutually convenient arrangement."

Draco sauntered towards the door.

"You keep telling yourself that if you want, Severus. But Granger was almost falling over with jealousy when you were dancing with Professor Masters. I'd lay a hundred Galleons on the stupid lion being in love with you, however unlikely that seems."

And he left, leaving Severus at the scene of Richard Briner's despicable crime with a heart beating out of his chest, wondering what the bloody hell he should do now.

-xxx-

Striding down the hallways, cursing the anti-Apparition wards for the second time that night, Severus finally arrived at his own quarters, opening the door with a bang and securing it behind him.

He had to go to her.

He had to know.

Opening the Floo connection between their rooms, he poked his head into the green flames, looking around the familiar guest chamber. It was empty, and he could see the bathroom door, open, so he doubted she was in there.

He did not risk stepping through. If she were not there then her door was likely unwarded, and she could arrive at any moment, not necessarily alone. It would not be a wise move. Not bothering to take off his cloak or boots, he walked out into his dungeon classroom and cast a Point Me spell. It was not an entirely reliable way of locating someone, and only worked on your closest friends or family, since you needed to invoke a 'sense' of that person, but Severus found that he got a surprisingly strong signal – a tugging in the palm of his hand that would lead him in the right direction.

Since all thoughts of his night patrol duty forgotten, it was a good thing that all the corridors he happened upon were deserted. He wouldn't have given a shit, even if they weren't, for had a witch to find.

The tug of the Point Me spell led him up several flights of stairs, along many corridors and around many corners, until he reached the base of the clock tower. Up here? It seemed so, for he was feeling the pull to climb the narrow stairs, that led to the platform behind the giant clock face at the top of the high tower.

When he reached the last step, the tugging sensation in his hand disappeared. She was standing before the clock face, peering through the gaps as if trying to look out upon the grounds beneath. A sharp wind blew through the rafters, ruffling her hair and the skirts of the exquisite ball gown that she was still wearing.

"What are you doing up here?" he called, slowly and quietly.

-xxx-

He was here.

Hermione spun around to face him, holding out an arm for him to approach her.

"It was a quiet place to go and think, clear my head from the party," she explained.

"Are you quite alright?" he asked, reaching her and taking hold of her hand.

His hands were surprisingly warm against her cold ones.

"I am fine, but Sir, I mean, Severus … Draco Malfoy. He knows."

"I am aware of this."

"You knew he knew?"

"Not until this very evening."

"Oh. Me neither. Until he danced with me."

"Why did he dance with you, Hermione?" Snape asked, pulling her towards him.

"He felt sorry for me. He thought I was jealous of seeing you dance with Professor Masters."

"And were you?"

She looked up at him, and those black eyes seemed as if they were staring into her soul. She could not lie to him, and more to the point, she didn't want to.

"Yes."

He lifted his hand, and slowly stroked three fingers gently down her cheek, ending under her chin, which he tilted to look into her eyes, as if he were about to perform Legilimency.

"Why?"

Hermione could not answer him, for she did not know the answer herself. Snape had told her there was nothing between he and Professor Masters, so why had she been jealous?

"Draco Malfoy believes you to be in love with me," he continued.

She held her breath. Oh, bloody hell. Draco thought that? And had told Snape? Was she in love with him? Oh gods … she didn't know … she might be.

"You are not to love me, Hermione."

That pushed over the edge that she needed.

"Why not?" she asked, defiantly. "Are you not worthy of love?"

"Of course I am not worthy. You know who I am, you know what I have done," he shot back, roughly.

Hermione could only stare at him, helplessly. She could honestly say that she'd never found him more attractive; looking dangerous and black-clad in his dress robes from the ball, desire in his eyes and vulnerability spilling from his heart.

She squeaked with shock as he pushed her against the stone wall of the clock tower without warning, holding her there with his hips, and he seemed to be shaking, she could feel trembling where his body touched hers.

"You do not love me, girl. Do you?"

It was a warning, a growled threat; but one in which she heard self-preservation, self-loathing and desperation.

"It's possible."

"No," he whispered, pressing his mouth to hers. "No. I cannot allow that."

Hermione allowed him to open her lips with his own, his trembling mouth seeking her kiss; searching for her response. When she slipped her tongue out and began to twirl it around his with small, inviting movements; he groaned in frustration, and a slight shake of his head.

She lifted her arms and folded them around his neck, drawing him deeper into the kiss, tangling her fingers in his already mussed hair. Snape had one arm around her shoulders, protecting her from the wall, and the other on her hip, which she began to move against him when his own hips began a grinding movement, revealing his obvious erection.

"Now," she begged, quietly. "Here."

Another groan of resignation rumbled up from his chest.

"Witch, what you do to me. What it did, seeing you in this dress and not being able to touch you. Oh, I wanted to, believe me. And now I can …"

His hand found the high split in her skirts, and he delved between her legs, finding her naked underneath.

"I trust you did not attend the ball like this?" he asked, his raised eyebrow irrepressibly sexy.

"It felt right. I hoped we would be like this … afterwards."

"Fucking hell, girl, are you trying to kill me? Open your legs."

Hermione spread her thighs a little wider and Snape took immediate advantage, sliding two fingers between her labia and starting a slow roll on her clitoris, returning his mouth to hers and swiping roughly against her lips before pushing his tongue back inside with a pleasured growl. Merlin, this man could kiss. She'd never tire of it, especially when his hand was between her legs, arousing her with his skilled touch. Her hips writhed involuntarily against his hand, and he chuckled; a dark sound that suited him well.

"Do you desire me, little girl?"

"Fuck … yes."

Snape removed his hand without warning, and she felt him fumbling with the lower buttons of his coat, and then unfastening his trousers, allowing them to drop down his legs. Goodness, they were really doing this, having sex in the chill breeze behind a giant clock face.

He lifted her right off her feet, pressing her back against the cold wall, although she suddenly didn't feel all that cold anymore.

"Put your legs round my back," he instructed, in a low growl, running his hand down the back of her bare thigh to guide her into position.

Hermione crossed her legs around his waist, and he sank himself inside her with one long thrust, sending spasms of excitement rushing through her body.

"Ohhh …" she cried, grasping his shoulders, which were still clothed in the formal black robes he had worn to the ball.

"Indeed," he replied, through a clenched jaw, before drawing out and plunging back in again, eliciting much the same response.

There was no kissing, for the professor was expending a great deal of energy both holding her up against the wall; and thrusting into her. Instead, she could look upon his face, with the grim determination of his jaw, the way his long hair bounced on his shoulders in time with his movements, and the naked desire in his black eyes.

Every thrust he made pushed deep inside her, bumping against that spot, that hidden place that only he had ever touched, edging her closer to orgasm. Hermione slipped one hand behind his neck, stroking his face as she went, insinuating her fingers into his hair and scrunching up a tight handful.

"You do not love me, do you, Granger?" he asked, keening from her touch of his sensitive scalp.

She didn't answer him.

She could not, for Hermione did not know what answer to give.

In love, with Professor Snape? A few months ago, that would have been a ludicrous idea. But now? Now, it was very hard to form a coherent answer when he was shagging her so thoroughly against the wall of the clock tower, dressed to all intents and purposes in his full teaching regalia. He was so dangerous, so compelling … so alive.

He held her tightly under her bottom, pushing upwards and into her. Again, and again, and again, releasing grunts of both effort and pleasure as he did so. Leaning forwards, he put his lips on her ear.

"Do not love me, Hermione, for I am a bad man, and I will hurt you."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he smothered her words with his lips, and swirled her disagreement away with his enticing tongue.

Hermione couldn't focus, for his unceasing rhythm had driven her so close to the cusp of her orgasm, that a few more strokes would push her over. Snape knew it too.

"Come, girl," he encouraged, speeding up his thrusts, pounding into her harder and deeper.

"Uhhh. Oh. Oh!"

"Yesss," he hissed, as her climax began. "Yes, Hermione. Come for me, come for … nnnghh!"

He let out a long groan of release as he jerked against her, spurting his own orgasm a moment after hers.

"Gods … oh god … Hermione …"

Snape's fingertips dug into her bum cheeks and the tops of her thighs as he rode out the aftershocks of an intense climax. The wind whistled around the clock face and through the rafters of the stone clock tower, and her bare shoulders began to feel cold against the wall. He remained inside her, his face buried in the side of her neck, calming his rapid breathing.

After a while, he lifted his head and looked her directly in the eyes, those black orbs still with the power to burn her soul.

"You cannot love me. Please."

He dropped his head and began to kiss her, with a lightly caressing movement that was so gentle, it made Hermione want to weep for him.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still here. Still struggling with a crappy real-life situation, but on my way back up. Your supportive messages and reviews during my absence have meant the absolute world. Thank you. I promise this story will never be abandoned. You can follow my authorpage on facebook – SlytherPouf, for updates, if you want to. Pouf x

Hermione walked briskly down the dungeon corridor, safe in the knowledge that all Slytherins were currently barging their way to the front of the queue for the carriages that would take them down to Hogsmeade Station, to catch the train home for the Christmas holidays. She had a few minutes to spare, at least. Her trunk was remaining here at Hogwarts to save her lugging it home to her parents' house, and she had only a small bag containing nothing but essentials. Everything else she needed was already at home, in her bedroom.

She entered the Potions classroom without knocking, enjoying the brief look of annoyance that Snape threw in the direction of the door, at the unexpected intrusion. His features softened when he saw that she was his invited visitor, but yet he still did not smile, nor verbalise a greeting.

In all the general busy-ness and frivolity that accompanied the break of term, and the approaching festive holiday, Hermione had not seen her professor since the night of the Yule Ball, three days previously.

Snape had left her where he'd found her, high above the rest of the school, against the cold stone wall of the clock tower, leaving her not with words of farewell, but with kisses so meaningful that they'd shaken her core with as much desperate passion as his lovemaking had.

She'd watched him unwillingly walk away from her, straightening his coat as he walked towards the stairwell, where he would descend what seemed like a hundred steps in order to return to the top floor of the castle. They had certainly been well-secreted, which was wise, considering the other events that had passed, previously that evening.

The Aurors had arrived for Professor Briner the morning after the ball, and what seemed the entire school leaned out of the long windows to watch not only their arrival, but also their return journey back to the boar-topped gates, magically escorting the disgraced Transfiguration professor.

The headmistress had taken it upon herself to teach the remaining Transfiguration lessons, since there were so few left in the term, announcing that she would be interviewing for Briner's replacement over the holidays, and that students should return to school in the New Year expecting to find their new professor in place. Her old Head of House looked tired and careworn, for perhaps she was feeling guilty about her appointment of Professor Briner having gone so very wrong, and resulted in an attack upon a student, Astoria Greengrass.

"I wondered if I would be seeing you today," Snape observed, as Hermione walked through the rows of student workbenches to reach his own large teaching desk at the front of the room, where he sat marking parchments, just as she'd expected to find him doing.

"You could have come to me," she replied, reaching the desk and placing one small hand over his large one, stilling the movement of his quill.

"That would have been most inappropriate."

"I think we've gone beyond inappropriate, surely, Sir?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up in an approximation of a smile. He sighed, putting his quill down and pushing his wheeled chair back, indicating that his lap was available to receive her. Hermione gently sat down; and was gratified to feel his long arms fold around her. She swung her legs to one side and placed a hand on his forearm, which was resting across her thighs.

"I find myself hard-pushed to care, Miss Granger," he replied, leaning his head back against the black leather of his huge desk chair. "I have been trying to summon up some guilt over the fate of Richard Briner, his actions so similar to my own, but …"

"Stop that now," she interrupted, holding a finger to his lips, watching his eyes betray his surprise. "You are nothing like Professor Briner. Everything we have done has been consensual, and not done without a great deal of thought and discussion beforehand!"

"I am not sure there was much discussion on the clock tower, girl," he shot back, with a wry smile. "I seem to recall that being a most unwise choice of venue."

Hermione saw a light in his black eyes that indicated he was attempting to make a joke, and she smiled, leaning forward to plant a chaste kiss on his lips, which felt warm and dry, even though his face always looked so cold and unwelcoming.

"Thank you," he said, receiving her kiss.

"For what?"

The dark professor sighed again.

"For many things, Hermione Granger. Many things."

After waiting a few seconds for more, it seemed that he was not going to elaborate. Hermione absently stroked his arm, still mindful that she was sitting on the lap of the Potions Master in an unlocked classroom, and that she only had a short time before the final thestral-drawn carriage left for Hogsmeade.

"Where are you going to be spending Christmas?" she asked, getting straight to the point, and frowned as he raised his eyebrow in reply.

"Where do you think I will be? Here at the castle, of course."

"But don't you …?"

"Have anyone to celebrate with?" he interrupted, in a scathing tone. "Come on, girl, I am quite sure that you have learned more about me than to ask that?"

"Well, I don't …"

"I shall remain here. I do not have to cook or clean, and I can work with ease."

He didn't seem to be raving with excitement at the thought.

"Can I stay? I mean, students are permitted to remain at school during the Christmas and Easter holidays if they wish, and I can study, and … spend time with you."

Snape took a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before releasing it, slowly.

"Hermione," he began, taking hold of her hand. "As tempting as that sounds, there would be no quicker way to expose the … interactions that take place between us. I for one would be reluctant to allow you leave my rooms."

He smirked as he said the last bit, and she couldn't help but return it.

"Come to my house, then. You don't have to tell anyone where you are going. Just say you are spending the Christmas holiday at your home. I'll be alone, as I doubt I'll be very welcome at the Weasleys this year, whatever Ginny says."

"Miss Weasley has indicated that you should attend her family home for Christmas?"

"She really wants me to, and so does Harry. He's living there at the moment, because he doesn't want to be in Grimmauld Place by himself, even though its rightfully his. Ron is just such … such …"

"Mr Weasley is an idiotic young wizard. I suggest you allow him no more space in your mind."

Hermione privately thought that Snape was entirely correct, but it felt disloyal to Ron to agree, so she just shrugged.

"I'll just stay at home," she confirmed. "No doubt my friends will visit, and I need to prepare my parents' home for sale."

He raised a questioning eyebrow.

"What has brought about this decision?"

"Since you told me that a memory charm is irreversible. Mum and Dad have a new life in Australia; and aren't ever coming back. I need to accept that. Therefore I'm going to do some charmwork on the title deeds to the house and transfer them into my name so that I can sell it; and buy a small flat in or around where the Ministry is located, which will be ideal for when I start work there next year. I don't feel guilty about it, as I transferred my life savings into their Australian bank account, so they could set up home there."

He nodded, gravely.

"Do you require any magical assistance with the paperwork?"

"I have a few charms that I'm going to try."

"Very well."

"I should be going. I don't want to miss the train."

"Indeed."

"Are you sure you won't come? We could spend as much time as we wanted together. It would be chance to be together … outside school."

His eyes darkened at her words, and he took rather a long time to formulate an answer. Time that she didn't have, since she was already on her feet, needing to be at the top of the castle driveway, not hiding in the dungeon.

"I cannot even begin to fathom the notion of being with you outside of Hogwarts."

"With respect, Sir … Severus … what does that even mean?"

"We are not in a relationship, Hermione. Despite my obvious pleasure at the time we spend together, we must not convince ourselves that there is anything more to our interactions other than meeting a mutual need."

She drew in a deep breath of shock at his words. Of course, she knew he was right, but it still hurt to hear it. Hermione gathered her Gryffindor pride from where it had just metaphorically clattered to the floor at his words.

"I need to go. If you change your mind, consider the invitation an open one. I live at …"

"I know where you live. Your address was very high on the list of the Dark Lord's Muggle targets. It is not somewhere I shall quickly forget."

-xxx-

As he watched her nod quickly in reply, chewing the inside of her cheek and hurriedly wishing him a pleasant Christmas and mumbling something about catching the carriages, before hot-footing it out of his classroom, Severus realised that his answers may have been a little curt. He had upset the girl.

Fuck. 

The last thing he wanted would be to cause pain or distress to the one good thing that he had going on in his miserable, godforsaken joke of a life.

He had been trying to protect her; when he'd refused her invitation. The thought of the two of them together, out in the open; well … it was preposterous. A young, beautiful, intelligent witch like Hermione Granger, strolling arm-in-arm along Diagon Alley with a surly, reviled, dark wizard old enough to be her father? It was so exquisitely painful to imagine that Severus actually winced at the thought. What a ridiculous couple they would make! Who knew what denigration they would receive from the wider magical community, most of whom would be disgusted at their unholy union, and the obvious matter of the professor's corruption of a young girl in his care.

She's of age, a little voice in his head chirped. She came to you.

He silenced the voice by telling himself, in a stern internal tirade, that he had broken every rule of the professional educators' code. He was a disgrace, no better than Richard Briner, however much they tried to persuade themselves that he was different. He would do well to stay away from this girl. The two-week Christmas holiday would be an ideal opportunity to practice some restraint. He did not need her. He purely wanted her. And want, was a foible that was easily quashed.

-xxx-

A mere two days later, already sick and tired of Minerva's forced festive jollity and the insistence of his remaining colleagues upon imbibing alcohol at any hour of the day due to the Christmas holiday, meant that Severus was only too pleased to receive an owl from Frank Longbottom, indicating that he felt that his wife was finally displaying some kind of response to the targeted Forgetfulness potion, and inviting the potioneer to visit.

Severus arrived at the Longbottom family seat shortly before noon that same day, and even knowing the wealthy, ancient pureblood status of their family (the Longbottoms were a member of the 'Sacred Twenty-Eight' that Voldemort had set so much store by) he was still taken aback by the sheer size and grandeur of their home. It didn't take much to impress a poor mill kid from a crumbling northern estate, even one that lived most of the year in Hogwarts castle.

A sprawling country pile, the Longbottom residence was as large as Malfoy Manor, but was attractive and welcoming, rather than dark and oppressive. And no fucking peacocks strolling about, like the pampered pets of the arrogant Lucius Malfoy, who'd thought the ridiculous birds were a symbol of extreme wealth and superior good taste. No doubt it wasn't him that picked up their perpetual fetid shit from the manicured lawns.

A house-elf in a clean, pressed tea-towel opened the door with a smile, and led Severus to the visitors' parlour, where Frank and Augusta Longbottom were awaiting him. Unfortunately, the sight of the well-dressed, elderly witch only reminded Severus of the time that fucking Lupin had allowed Potter's class to see him in Boggart form, dressed in Augusta Longbottom's clothes.

He had been so incensed, at the time, that he had taught the entire class about werewolves, despite it not being on Lupin's lesson plan, hoping that one of the dunderheads might make the correlation between his teaching, and their Defence professor's monthly absences from class. The dunderheads must have presumed that the absent Professor Lupin was suffering a form of male menstruation every month, as no one aside from Miss Granger had deduced Lupin's true identity.

Severus quickly dampened down that thought, as he needed to concentrate on the task ahead, unfettered by thoughts of the young witch he had spent the last term fucking in secret, all about the castle.

Frank Longbottom looked much improved from the last time Severus had seen him, laying in the Janus Thickey ward at St Mungo's. He was dressed in well-fitting clothes, had clearly had a haircut, and his eyes were full of good humour, curiosity and vitality. Frank reported that he had continued to take the Forgetfulness potion in the low dose that Severus had advised, and that he'd had no nightmares, flashblacks, or mental distress since being freed from his own psyche.

He was still curious, Frank admitted, about the circumstances that led to his nearly twenty-year incarceration inside his own mind; but reiterated that he was following instructions to the letter, as he had no wish to suffer a psychological relapse and end up back there. The man would now have forgotten that the Cruciatus Curse even existed.

With enthusiasm, and fortified by a large pot of tea, Frank continue to express his thanks to Severus for returning him to his mother and son; and spoke warmly about how delighted he was to spend time with his son, and expressed pride in the fine young man that Neville Longbottom had become. Severus did not disagree.

At length, and bidden by raised eyebrows from his fearsome mother, Frank arrived at the subject of his wife. He had discharged Alice Longbottom from St Mungo's into his own care, after his own discharge, once he had proved he was of sound mind and had received control of his own legal affairs again. She was now living in the Longbottom family home, and spent her days in bed, as she had done in the hospital, only now she was in a bright, airy room, with views over the substantial gardens.

The windows were thrown open as often as possible, Augusta explained, to air the room and so that Alice could feel the breeze on her face. Frank stated that he felt sure his wife was responding to this. He had continued to administer her with the high dose of the Forgetfulness potion that Severus had provided him with; and advised that he'd felt on occasions that her eyes would focus, especially when the windows were first opened, and the first gust of cool wind hit her cheeks.

"She looks towards the source of the breeze, I'm convinced of it," Frank told him, in what seemed like a pleading, desperate tone. "If we can get her eyes to focus, you can open a Legilimency connection, can't you?"

"I can only try," Severus replied, not wanting to give this kind, gentle wizard, who had suffered so greatly, any false hope that he would have to later dash.

"Would you like to see her now?" Augusta Longbottom asked, abruptly.

"I think that would be best," he confirmed, privately wondering why Neville Longbottom had been scared of him, when the boy had been living with this old battle-axe at home. He should have been well-practised.

As they entered the bedchamber, Severus saw Longbottom at once, seated at his mother's bedside. His next thought was to notice that the room was awfully gloomy and rather muggy, which was unusual since Frank had told him how well-aired they kept the room.

"I suppose you are wondering why this room is dark and unaired?" snapped Augusta, turning sharply on her heel as she entered the bedchamber.

Severus did not answer her, for he was certain that the old woman was about to explain; and he was not left waiting.

"As my son has told you, he has managed to elicit some visual response from Alice when the window is first opened, and she feels the changing temperature and a breeze upon her face. We have purposely not opened it thus far this morning, to allow the greatest possible reaction for your attempt to Legilimise her."

"I see."

"Good morning, Professor Snape," stammered Longbottom, getting up from his mother's side.

Severus nodded his wordless response, for he was in no mood for pleasantries, and took the boy's place beside the stricken woman, arranging the chair between her bed and the window, as it was in this direction that her family believed she would look. Alice had been propped up with pillows into a sitting position, and although her eyes were open, they were as unfocused and unseeing as they always had been, whenever he'd seen her previously.

It was a crying shame. Alice Longbottom had been a formidable Auror, tragically cut down in the prime of life, leaving a months-old baby son. Even as she lay in an effective coma, she was still strikingly tall, her hair cut short, and her skin looking younger than her years would suggest, having spent the last two decades unexposed to the ageing rays of the sun. It was clearly from her side that her son had obtained his height, build and colouring, for Neville resembled Alice far more closely than he did Frank.

"Frank," he began. "You do realise that I can make you no promises? It seems that your wife's condition is worse than your own, and there is no guarantee I can bring her back from wherever she is trapped."

"I understand that," Frank replied.

"Furthermore, if she is so badly damaged that she cannot free herself, even with my assistance, there is every possibility that she may die in the attempt."

"Good."

The single, surprising word had come from the mouth of Neville Longbottom. Everyone turned to look at him. Surely, he would not want his mother to die? Augusta looked particularly appalled, however Severus suspected that the old crone generally wore a face that resembled a tight, disapproving knot.

"If we can't get mum back, the way you are, Dad, then I want her to die. I don't want her to be trapped in that hell any longer! If the only way she can live is to be trapped inside a prison in her own mind, then I really do wish her dead!"

Frank placed a reassuring arm around his son.

"Your professor will do all he can, I am sure, son," he told him, looking towards Severus for reassurance that he spoke the truth.

Severus gave a single nod and steeled himself, drawing his wand and attempting to prepare for whatever he may find in the witch's mind; if he managed to even gain access at all. If it was anything like her husband's mental prison, it was likely to be horrendous.

"I am ready," he advised the assembled family.

Augusta and Neville each drew back one of the heavily-embroidered drapes, whilst Frank ducked between them and threw up the sash window to its widest point, allowing a most welcome gust of cold air to sweep into the room, which was now so warm due to the amount of people present, that it had become almost cloying.

Alice Longbottom's face turned instantly towards the source of the cold breeze, and Severus saw her eyes searching for the cool relief. Now. This was his moment, and he must make his move immediately, lest he squander the small second of focus.

"Legilimens!" he cast, moving into the path of her vision with his own eyes wide open.

-xxx-

Severus had no idea where the fuck he was.

Frank Longbottom's mindscape had been a retreating sea, dark and perilous, but Severus had at least been able to see the man, despite being in the distance. Alice's was what appeared to be a coarse forest that seemed to be fighting the effect of the potion, not being calmed by it. It was, quite literally, terrifying.

Everywhere he looked there were gnarled tree branches, so spiked that they looked like rusted daggers or swords, extended menacingly at all angles, as well as underfoot and above his head. Severus forced himself to find his bearings; and attempt to make sense of his surroundings. A path to his right was sloping upwards, as if it led to higher ground, so he stepped towards it, only to be startled after two steps by the growl of a wild forest wolf, a slavering beast that came sloping out of the spiked bracken and blocked his path, foaming drool dripping from its fangs.

It is only a mindscape. None of this is real. Continue walking. 

It was hard to put one foot in front of the other when everything felt so very real. Nonetheless, he pushed forwards, showing the creature that he was unafraid, and sure enough as he reached it, the wolf slunk back into the bushes, whimpering pathetically. It fed on the fear of Alice Longbottom's mind, and was no match for Severus' alert and logical psyche.

The path did indeed lead higher, and he continued to walk, shaking off the sentient sharp branches that tried to grab at his cloak as he fought his way along the narrow stretch.

None of this is real.

He had to keep reminding himself of this, every few feet, for his heart was beating in fear. This mindscape had been cultivated over twenty years to imprison, to torment, to punish. He was the first to invade it. It was not surprising that whatever festered here would do its best to keep him out.

As Severus reached a clearing, he realised that he was now a significant way up a large hill, further than he would have expected, given the relative distance he had walked. He could now look out over an immense valley, like a blanket of black and green between two huge hills, the top of each one jutting out over the valley like a wicked precipice.

"Who are you?"

The tortured voice rang out loudly across the mindscape. Severus looked for the source, and finally, dreadfully, he found it.

Alice Longbottom, tall and strong, yet mentally depleted, stood at the edge of one of the precipices, looking down over the valley. Unlike Frank had been, she was clothed, and her hair had grown long and wild, unlike the short crop that her living body wore.  
Severus began to walk again, heading further up the path that led to the top of the perilously high hill, although his passage began to clear somewhat, as if Alice's psyche was allowing him closer.

"I am Severus Snape," he replied, still walking, his voice carrying across the mindscape as if it were no distance at all, which of course, it wasn't.

They were, outside of their conjoined minds, sitting next to one another in a bedchamber in the Longbottom home. If one of them were to speak, the other would hear them perfectly.

"Are you a Death Eater, Severus Snape?"

"I am not, Mrs Longbottom. I am a professor at your son's school."

"My son is a small baby! He does not attend school."

"Your son is nearly nineteen years old, Alice."

"You lie! How can that be?"

Severus reached the top of the hill; and was now merely a dozen feet away from her. There was a dreadful fear in her eyes, and her body looked poised for flight or fight. She was not defeated and physically shattered as Frank had been, but instead resembled a warrior, a fighter, someone who was ready for anything.

Was this why she had not reacted to the potion? Not because she was coping less well with the prison of her mind, but because she had been actively fighting against it for nearly two decades? Had the potion in fact made her worse, made her inner psyche less able to cope with where it was trapped?

"None of this is real, Alice," he told her, gently, his words now being whipped away by the harsh wind at the top of the hill. "Everything you see here, is a product of your own mind. You were attacked, dreadfully, and your mind was driven to this place. I have come to bring you home."

"Where is my son?"

"He is at home, with his father, Frank. He is … a brave and steadfast young wizard that you will be proud of. Will you not come with me, and meet him?"

She took a step towards the edge of the precipice; and looked down. Severus followed her gaze. The tops of the trees stuck straight upwards, with sharp points that resembled medieval spears, and wicked, jagged branches. It was also, curiously, littered with the remains of crashed carriages, and Muggle motor cars.

"They drive over the edge, you know," Alice told him, still looking down. "I tell them to stop, but no one ever stops. No one listens to me. Jump, they say. Just jump, Alice."

"Won't you come with me, Alice?" he asked, holding out his hand for her to take. "I can show you the way out of here. I can bring you home, for you have a husband and son that need you."

"I will never leave this place. I realised that long ago, Severus Snape. This world … it consumes me. It is my heart and my soul. I rule every piece of land that you see before you."

Her words sounded frighteningly insane, and he was scared for her. Despairingly, he realised that if he managed to bring Alice out of here, it was likely she had suffered a permanent brain injury that no pathetic potion was going to cure.

"Until recently," she continued. "Recently it appears that my kingdom has been fighting back. That is, it no longer recognises me as the ruler, as the controller. The trees – they have grown sharp and wicked. They wish to hurt me."

The potion. The Forgetfulness potion that was detaching Alice from her mental prison had caused her mindscape to turn against her; the complete opposite from the reaction that Frank had experienced, where his imaginary creations had softened with each dose that he'd taken. Severus could not cure this woman. He needed to extract himself from her mind, to immediately withdraw her doses of the potion, and allow her to return to some form of control, some form of comfort.

And what comfort is that, Severus?

The little voice in his head was niggling again. Alice Longbottom was a ghost. Her body was useless; and could not be connected to her mind. Was this living? Did not this brave witch deserve more, than for him to simply give up and retreat?

He took a step closer to her. He could almost touch her. He could take her hand, and mentally yank her from her own mind, no matter what the consequences. She may be brain damaged, but there was no doubt that Frank, Neville and Augusta would care for her. She may even achieve some recovery.

Severus made his decision.

Alice made hers at the same time.

She stepped over the edge.

Her tall body fell like a stone, gathering speed, heading towards the valley of evil below, the wickedly sharp trees that were waiting, with waving, evil branches, to claim her body.

Severus did not see what happened. Everything went black, and he was ejected from her mind with vicious force - for you could not hold open a Legilimency connection; when the subject was dead.

He opened his eyes and saw that it was pitch dark outside the still-open window. Once again, he had been gone for hours. Standing up, he quickly ran his wand over Alice's body and cast diagnostics. Nothing.

"She has gone?" he heard the old matriarch ask, a tremble to her sharp voice.

Severus turned around to look upon the three tired faces.

"She has gone," he confirmed. "Her heart is no longer beating. The strain was just too much for her weakened body."

There were no tears from the assembled family, only resignation.

Voldemort's regime had just claimed another victim. What an absolute waste of a life.


	27. Chapter 27

After dropping her book in tiredness for the third time, Hermione finally capitulated, and reached across to the bedside cabinet to switch off the lamp there. She was in her parents’ room, preferring their large bed to her own, a childish single, and had spent the day clearing the master bedroom of their few remaining possessions, for they had taken most of their things to Australia with them. 

She’d purchased fresh bedlinens on a shopping trip to Diagon Alley the previous day, preferring the subtle magic imbued in the very threads, to anything she might find in a Muggle department store. Today she had moved all her own belongings into the room, putting her own stamp on things. Hopefully it would not be too long before the house was sold, but until then, and certainly for the duration of the Christmas holidays, Hermione wanted the bedroom to be her own, rather than feeling like a small child who had snuck into her parents’ room without their knowledge. 

There was a bunch of hand-tied herbs and wildflowers that she had bought from the apothecary, preferring the natural scents to the over-perfumed, farmed blooms in the local florist shop. The smells reminded her of the Hogwarts grounds, and the Potions classroom. 

She closed her eyes against the dark, and wrapped the duvet tightly around herself, in an attempt to provide the physical comfort that she was missing so desperately. There was no denying it, she had become obsessed with her professor – desperate for the private times they spent together, needing the heady rush that occurred when her blood pumped faster through her veins, the way her mind span when he looked at her in that particular way – as if he wanted to devour her whole. To be the subject of such fulsome desire was intoxicating, and Hermione could not get enough of it. 

This was probably why the Sorting Hat had placed her Gryffindor, all those years ago. Hermione knew that she had an obsessive personality, and when she did something, whatever it might be, from studying to sex, she undertook it with her entire heart and soul. 

It was pointless to try and fathom her attraction to the dark wizard, and she had certainly tried to do exactly that, on many occasions over the preceding months. Despite his many obvious flaws, the fact remained that she could not get enough of his touch, of his surprisingly passionate kisses, of the way his delicious voice would drip filth into her ear as he made love to her, and of the sheer joy of just being alive that she felt, when she was with Severus Snape. 

He had told her, sharply, that he could not see them together outside of the cloistered environs of the castle walls, and it was a sad statement that was probably true. What had she been thinking, that they would waltz out together and be accepted by all and sundry as a couple? The professor and his student? Of course not. She would be better to accept his words, that they were purely meeting a mutual need, and that their interactions would cease once she completed her course of NEWT study and left the school. 

Hermione had never dreaded the final exams so much in her life. 

-xxx-

However late at night it was, and however tired she had felt whilst reading her book; now that the room was dark, and she had signalled to her body that it was time to sleep, Hermione found that blissful oblivion would not come. The reason was undoubtedly because she had not been particularly active today, preferring to mooch around the house, doing a little sorting out of the bedrooms, but not much else, and now had a surfeit of excess energy. 

The previous day had been much busier, for she had met up with Harry and Ginny in Diagon Alley, and spent many hours walking the cobbles, going in and out of the shops that were doing a brisk Christmas trade. They had met Mr and Mrs Weasley for lunch in the Leaky Cauldron, and both had expressed their regret at Hermione not being at the Burrow for Christmas, in the absence of her parents, and tried to persuade her to come.

“Dear, it is my house, and I shall invite whomever ever I wish to stay there, whatever my youngest son might think!” Molly had insisted. “We consider you and Harry our family, and whilst I’m ever so sad that you and Ronald are not together, it shouldn’t stop you being around each other, surely?”

Hermione guessed that Ron had not been entirely honest about what he’d proposed in the Three Broomsticks, on her birthday. She doubted that he’d gone home to his parents and admitted that he’d booked a room so that they could get up close and personal in private, and then had a tantrum when she’d taken offence and refused. 

But, they were his parents and therefore that was his choice. She had no business trying to come between a mother and son, and she wished Ron no ill will – despite being a little pissed off with his attitude, he and Harry were still her best friends in the world.   
If she was honest, the idea of two weeks surrounded by Weasleys what not actually what she wanted right now. Hermione loved them all, but the solitude that her family home promised was far more appealing at present. 

Managing to lose Ginny in Twilfitt and Tatting’s, Hermione had snuck away to the wizard’s personal clothing section and had purchased a black silk dressing gown for her professor, since the one he liked to wear at rest in his chambers had clearly seen better days; and was old and worn in parts. She had it wrapped in a plain gift box, before secreting it in her beaded bag, the extension charm swallowing it up, away from prying eyes. She didn’t fancy explaining that to the notoriously nosey Ginny Weasley. 

Not that she’d get the chance to give it to him, Hermione thought, crossly, turning her pillow over for the fifth time and struggling to get comfortable. She tried to allow her eyelids to droop closed, but they sprung wide open again at the sound of a quiet knock on the front door. 

Her stomach lurched, partly with fear, but mostly with excitement. The sensible side of her should be frightened that there was an unexpected visitor at her door in the middle of the night, but her wild side was already hoping against hope that it might be … just might be … him, having changed his mind. 

She was out of bed and halfway down the stairs before the cold December night had even registered, not having stopped for a dressing gown or slippers; and had reached the bottom before realising that turning on a light could also have been a good idea. She didn’t care, though. That familiar shot of adrenaline was pushing her forwards. 

Bloody stupid Gryffindor, she berated herself. 

As she walked down the short, narrow hallway to the front door, the quiet but insistent knocking sounded again. Through the small pane of glass in the door, Hermione could see the shape of a tall person, shrouded in the darkest black.

He was here. 

Swallowing her excitement in a single, rather painful gulp, she fumbled with the lock and latch before pulling open the door wide. 

Professor Snape stood on the doorstep, his expression unreadable, his wand drawn in his right hand, but held low. He was illuminated by the light of the clear moon. 

“You do not perform any check as to who is at the door before opening it, in the dead of night, Miss Granger? And where is your wand? How very remiss of you.”

“I knew it was you.”

He quirked his eyebrows in a brief questioning arch, and down again, suggesting that he did not believe her. 

“I did know,” she insisted. “Will you come in, or do you plan on standing on my doorstep all night?”

There was a brief flicker of amusement in his face, as he absorbed her rather cheeky words, but he made no move to come inside. 

“Alice Longbottom is dead,” he told her, his voice flat and emotionless.

“Dead? Oh Merlin, what happened?”

“I performed Legilimency on her. Her heart was not strong enough to cope. She died whilst I was still inside her mind.”

Hermione was shocked. That must have been a horrendous experience for him, to be inside the mind of a person who was dying. She searched for what he was not saying. What did he need? How was he feeling? What could she do for him?

He would need comfort, and reassurance that Alice Longbottom’s death had not been his fault. She had no doubt that Snape would have done everything he could to bring Neville’s mother back, as he had managed to do for his father. He must be carrying a terrible guilt and sense of regret, right at this moment. 

He would need to feel alive. He would need to know that his body lived on, that blood flowed through his veins, and that air filled his lungs. 

All of this, she could provide. 

She stepped onto her own doorstep, her bare feet touching the cold brick, and slid her hand up his cloaked chest, and around his neck, tugging his face down towards her. 

Hermione planted a kiss on his cheek, which was freezing cold, so she kissed her way to his ear, trying to warm the cold flesh. 

“I am here for you. Please, let me help you,” she whispered, against the chilled skin of his ear; when she reached it. 

-xxx-

If there was anything that would weaken his resolve faster than a curse shot from the end of an unfriendly wand, it was the sensation of Hermione Granger’s warm lips gently kissing their way across his face, before whispering words he’d hadn’t known he needed to hear until that very moment. 

Without a second thought, Severus growled out the pain he hadn’t realised he was suffering, as he wrapped his long arms around this small girl, gathering her into his tight embrace as if he were a drowning man and she was the key to his survival. How something so tiny could comfort him so entirely, he had no idea. 

As he buried his face in her neck, his lips pressed tightly against the curve of her shoulder, Severus felt her arms link around his back, stroking him through his thick winter travelling cloak, accepting him entirely. He breathed heavily, unwilling to move, drawing strength from her. It was the most unsettling, but also the most sublime, feeling. It was as if her mere proximity was rejuvenating him, restoring his strength and calming his heart. He supposed this was what true comfort must feel like, but the truth was, he really wouldn’t know, since he’d never received any, not even as a child. Neither Eileen nor Tobias Snape had been in any way affectionate towards their only son. 

“I am here for you,” he heard again, quietly against his ear. 

Severus was unable to formulate a verbal response, for the various feelings coursing through his chilled body were taking over his mind to such an extent that lucid speech seemed an impossible task at present. He gathered her body in tighter, sliding a hand down her spine and slipping it inside the back of her tiny shorts that he liked so much, feeling the warm of her bare arse against his palm. 

She must have been in bed, since she was wearing her pyjama shorts, which Severus supposed was unsurprising, given the lateness of the hour. He took a firm handful of her luscious arse and squeezed it, letting out an involuntary groan as he straightened himself, withdrawing his face from her neck. 

“Kiss me, little girl, before I run mad.”

Granger tugged his head down and obeyed, pressing her soft, hot lips to his cold ones with a hard crash and a sigh of relief, as if she desired him as deeply as he desired her. Merlin, this witch could kiss. He worked his lips against hers to open her mouth, pushing his tongue deeply inside, and this time the sigh was his own – a desperate noise that urged her to kiss him harder. 

He lifted her from the ground as they kissed, open-mouthed, his hand still inside her shorts, and he was gratified to feel her legs wrap around his waist. Severus trailed his fingers further down, sliding two between her arse cheeks and toying with her most private hole, tickling the sensitive skin there and enjoying the gasp of surprise she let out, into his mouth. 

“Inside,” she hissed, as he continued to attack her lips, which made talking rather difficult.

Not putting her down, he stepped over the threshold, still kissing her, and felt her reach behind his back to give the front door a good slam, and heard it click shut. He walked down the hallway with her in his arms, placing her on the bottom step of the staircase, evening the height difference so that they were looking one another in the eye. They were both breathing heavily, their upper bodies pressed together, and the girl looked deliciously debauched with her tousled hair and kiss-swollen lips. 

“Divesto,” Severus muttered, and his travelling cloak, followed by his long black frock coat, removed themselves from his body and hung on the coat stand to his left. 

He felt more exposed, in this intimate position in the girl’s own home, than he’d ever done in school with her. They were crossing a line. Despite the forbidden nature of their in-school interactions, being here together felt more threatening, because it was so … real. It was tantamount to admitting that they had both chosen this, chosen each other. They were not constrained by their roles within the castle, and were free to be their true selves. 

“It would be useless for me to pretend that I do not desire you, Granger,” he muttered, his voice low. 

“Well then, don’t pretend, Professor,” she shot back, with an appealing glint of mischief in her eye. 

“I think Severus would be appropriate at this juncture.”

“Are you going to call me Hermione, then, Severus, rather than Granger?”

Severus enjoyed her cheek. He enjoyed everything about this young witch, and it would be a sham if he attempted to convince himself otherwise. He needed to recover from the trauma of the day, of hours spent inside the mind of a woman driven insane by the Cruciatus. He was magically almost depleted, certainly, it had taken every ounce of concentration he possessed to Apparate here, to the girl’s home, without splinching himself. 

Magically depleted, yes. Physically depleted, definitely not. His need to release some of his pent-up energy was huge, and certainly throbbing in the front of his trousers. He wasn’t entirely sure he could wait, she was so fucking tempting. 

With a rumble that rolled up from his gut, Severus pushed forwards, lowering her to be seated and then pushing further so that she was effectively laying up the stairs, the carpeted steps pressing into her back as he arranged himself above her. 

“I need you,” he bit out, pressing his lips to her mouth, and his hard groin to her hips.

She inhaled sharply as she opened her lips to his attack; and allowed him the access he so desperately needed. Severus felt her hips rise up against his, and he rubbed himself upon them, seeking the friction that would bring him the most pleasure. 

“Ye Gods,” he hissed, frotting against her whilst holding his upper body rigid, his hands flat on the stair, beside her head. 

Risking overbalancing, he lifted one hand and slid it under the hem of her sleep vest, running over her soft stomach and finding the pert tit that he sought, fondling the firm breast with desperation, as if it had been months since he’d last done so. 

“Fucking hell, girl,” he moaned again, every part of his body utterly aroused by her. 

“I do have a bedroom,” she breathed, as he sucked on her neck, flickering his tongue along the sensitive cords there, that made her buck her hips against his, with pleasure. 

“Then I suggest we find it, with some haste,” he replied, reluctantly pulling himself from above her, and extending his hand to help her up from where he’d spread her along her own staircase. 

Granger took his hand and rose to her feet, turning around neatly and headed upstairs, before looking over her shoulder after she had taken a few steps and beckoning to him, with a teasing, flirtatious look upon her face. Severus roughly pushed up the sleeves of his white shirt; and took the stairs two-at-a-time until he was standing only one step behind her. Quick as lightning, he ran his hands up her bare legs and took hold of those tiny shorts, hoicking them down in one smooth movement, right to her ankles, and held them there for her to step out of. Once she had done so, he did not allow her to ascend another stair. 

“Hold on,” he instructed, placing each of her hands upon the bannister either side, before guiding her legs open so that each foot was secure against the walls of the staircase. 

He then sat on the stair below her; and twisted himself around so that his head was between her legs, looking upwards. And what a fucking view it was. Her little pink cunt was spread open above him, and Severus could smell her arousal from his vantage point. Using one hand to support himself in position, he used the other to gently stroke along her folds, slowly opening her up even further, so that he could uncover her trembling clitoris, and the gasp she made sent a hard shot of arousal straight to his cock. 

Holding her open, he raised his mouth to her pussy, touching the tip of his tongue to her entrance, and licking the beginnings of her fluid from around the sweet hole. 

“Oh, Severus …” she breathed, as he watched her little hole flinch from his touch. 

“Stay there, Hermione.”

It was not a request. 

He transferred his attentions to her needy clit, firstly tickling the surface with the end of his tongue, and when he heard her gasp, beginning to swirl his tongue around the whole bud, with precise, sweeping strokes that circled the hardening clitoris, licking faster as he felt her thighs begin to tremble against his ears. 

“Severus, I … I just …”

“You just need to come, Hermione,” he answered, in between swirling his tongue around her soaked cunt. “And you shall. Hold tight and let it happen.”

Severus pressed his mouth firmly against her, creating a seal around the top of her pussy where he could lash her clit without mercy. The girl was shaking against him, and he used the hand that had been holding her open to grasp her thigh, providing more support for her, since they were halfway up the stairs in a distinctly precarious position. 

Flickering his tongue like the nib of an enchanted quill, racing across a parchment, he felt her clitoris begin to throb, and her vagina begin to contract under his chin. He had her. She was about to come, beautifully, all over his mouth, and Severus couldn’t fucking wait. He had gone too long in life without this particular pleasure, and now he had it, he would do it as often as he fucking could. 

He squeezed her thigh, hard against the trembling flesh, as his rampant tongue slurped and lashed her over the edge into a spectacular orgasm, dripping fluid around his mouth as she writhed her hips against his face, grinding her climax into his willing mouth. The little pants and screams that she made as she finally let go were almost too much for him to bear, and he ripped open his trousers with his spare hand, pulling out his cock and tugging his erection hard, even as he was still licking her clit, enjoying the way it twitched with sensitive aftershocks. 

The girl must have felt him wanking, as she descended two steps, her legs either side of his body and still holding onto both bannisters, positioning herself so that her wet entrance was directly above his hard cock. She wasn’t going to take him on the staircase, was she? Mind, he had just done effectively the same thing. 

She lowered herself; and used her hand to gently guide the bulbous head of his dick inside her. He gave a shout of surprise, and of pleasure. 

“Can I help you with that, Sir, or would you rather masturbate on my stairs?”

He smirked; and Severus knew he must be unattractively slack-jawed with arousal.

“Get yourself down my cock, Granger, before I put you in detention,” he managed to say, through gritted teeth. 

She obeyed. 

The feeling was fucking astounding, as his erection became slowly sheathed in her tight, wet cunt. 

No sooner had she reached the base, then she pulled herself up again, the upward motion feeling just as sublime as the descent. The little witch did it again. And again. And once more, speeding her movements each time until she was fully fucking him on the staircase, using the bannisters to support her, so that she could move hard and fast upon him. Holy shit, he would not be forgetting this in a hurry. Not that he had forgotten a single one of the times he had fucked this girl. 

“Do you want to come, Severus?” she asked, pulling up her skimpy vest so that her bare breasts were exposed, before returning her hands to the bannisters. 

“Teasing fucking witch,” he hissed, his face sweating with effort and an extreme level of arousal, as he watched her youthful breasts bounce as she rutted against him. “Your tits ... Merlin, girl … those tits …”

He was incoherent with pleasure, all thoughts of the day forgotten, his only goal to spill himself inside this delicious witch, an act that was not likely to take much longer, for with the additional support of the narrow staircase, she was practically milking his cock as she sat on his lap.

“Ungghhh,” he groaned, reaching to grasp one of her breasts, and squeezed it hard, thumbing her erect nipple roughly with his thumb. “Coming. Go faster. Coming now, girl …”

And he was. Her hips sped to a blur as she took the friction to an extreme level, leaving him with no choice but to shout his relief as he released, thrusting his hips upwards with each spurt, giving her everything he had. 

“Oh, ye Gods,” he murmured, unable to stop the pulse of his cock deep inside her, not wanting the lovemaking to end. “Holy fucking hell, Hermione Granger.”

He pulled her down to lay on top of him, his sweaty hands lain on her equally sweaty back, where she had so exquisitely pulled up her vest to expose her breasts to him as he’d approached climax. 

Severus didn’t even look around at the Muggle home where he had just fucked this girl along the length of her own staircase. Very soon, his old bones would protest at the position they were in, but for the next few minutes, he was perfectly comfortable indeed. 

-xxx-

Snape followed her through the door of her parents’ bedroom, and Hermione was exceedingly glad that she’d spent the afternoon creating her own little haven in it. He stilled her hand as she reached to turn on the electric light, drawing his wand from the back pocket of his trousers, which he held up with his free hand, as they were still unfastened after their activities on the stairs. Muttering an incantation under his breath; and moving his wand as if he were signing his name in the air, two clusters of small floating candles appeared on either side of the bed, burning softly and throwing a low, golden light across the room. 

“I thought you didn’t approve of foolish wand waving, Sir?” she asked, smiling both at him, and at the gorgeous lighting he had conjured. 

“You are impertinent, Miss Granger,” he grumbled, and he toed off his boots, leant over to pull off his socks, which he stuffed inside the boots, and then straightened up, beginning to do up the button on his trousers. 

Hermione took a step towards him and touched his hand to stop him. 

“Don’t,” she told him. 

He arched his eyebrow at her; but desisted from refastening his trousers. Hermione plucked his wand from his fingers, placing it carefully on the top of the chest of drawers, alongside her own. She then returned to stand in front of him, took hold of the waistband of his trousers, and eased them over his hips, allowing the heavy belt to carry them to the floor. As the belt buckle hit the bedroom carpet with a dull thud, she took hold of his undershorts. 

“May I?”

“Given what we have just done together, I believe you can safely presume that you may.”

She smiled again, for he really was rather droll, and sent his shorts the same way as his trousers, watching intently as he stepped out of both and kicked the garments aside. Hermione moved her hands to his chest; and started to unfasten the buttons on his white shirt, from the neck downwards. On the third button, he covered her hands with his own, and she looked up at him, questioningly. 

“Thank you,” he told her, simply. 

“For what?”

“For the comfort that you provided me.”

“I intend to continue providing it, if you will allow it?”

He gave a small sigh of capitulation; and removed his hands. Hermione continued to work her way down the front of his shirt, opening it fully, and pushing her hands inside it, running her palms over the hard planes of his chest; the lean muscle clearly defined beneath his light covering of black hair. Snape watched intently, looking down his long nose at her, his face neutral. 

Reaching up, she pushed the shirt from his shoulders, following its path down his arms with trailing fingers as she guided the white material from his wrists, before gathering it up and throwing it on the pile with the other discarded garments. Taking a step towards him, intending to fold herself into his arms, he stopped her. Without a word, he reached for the hem of her vest, tugging it upwards, and she raised her arms so that he could lift it swiftly over her head. She watched him take a long, greedy look at her breasts, before slipping his arms around her back and allowing her to press herself against him as he stroked down her bare spine with his clever fingers, making her shiver. 

“Cold?” he asked. 

“Not at all.”

Hermione felt him smile, where his chin was resting on the top of her head. Pulling back, she took his hand and guided him towards the bed, where the cover was already thrown open from where she had leapt from it – to answer his knock at the door. She climbed in, and shuffled over to the opposite side, still holding his hand so that he had no choice but to follow her. The covers folded themselves over their bodies; clearly, he had just done that with a neat piece of wandless, non-verbal magic. 

Their heads lay on the pillows, facing one another in the warm candlelight, their legs entwined as if by habit, which Hermione supposed it was, the amount of times they had been in this position before. Only this time they were in her home, and outside the confines of the castle walls. 

“Will you stay?” she asked. 

“It appears that I am, given my current whereabouts.”

“I meant for the whole holiday.”

His face darkened. 

“Hermione, that would be unwise,” he warned. 

“Unwise for whom?”

There was a long pause. 

He did not answer her, and his endless black eyes searched her face.

“You need comfort,” she continued, quietly, when it became clear that Snape was not going to respond. “You won’t find it hidden away in your dungeon chambers. You won’t find it from those dried up old professors that are spending Christmas at Hogwarts because they have nowhere else to go, and no one else to be with.”

“I have never accepted or sought comfort from another living soul,” he admitted, finding his voice. 

“Then maybe it is time you started.”

He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again, in the manner of a large, gaping fish. It really was quite comical, and had they been in the classroom he probably would have extracted ten points from Gryffindor for her cheek. 

“Are you always this bossy and controlling?” he asked, that infernal eyebrow raised yet again.

“You have no idea,” she retorted, smirking, in what was bound to be an irritating manner. 

“I really don’t think …” 

“Then don’t,” she interrupted, closing the distance between their upper bodies, snaking an arm around his neck and swiping her lips persuasively across his. “Don’t think. Just stay.”

Hermione felt him move his arm, placing it around her back, and stroking the curve of her spine with the flat of his hand. He took her lower lip gently between his, mouthing it softly, before pressing back with a single hard kiss. 

“With a prize such as you in my arms, I would be a foolish wizard to argue,” he muttered. 

“You’re not a foolish wizard, are you Severus?”

“I have, in my lifetime, been more incredibly foolish than you can possibly imagine,” Snape replied. 

As she opened her mouth to reply, he surprised her by tumbling her onto her back and climbing atop her in one smooth movement, his forearms on the mattress, either side of her head, and his long black hair falling down the sides of his face. His expression was decidedly wicked, and she loved it.

“But not any more,” he finished, dropping his head and roughly taking possession of her mouth. 

She kissed him back, eagerly. 

He was staying.


End file.
